Black Sky Legion
by LurkingEvil
Summary: Having played the DMMO-RPG for almost as long as they have been married, gamer couple Lurk and Harmony log in on the last day of YGGDRASIL. They reminisce one final time in their guild hall. Little do they know how thin the veil between worlds really is. Thrust into a new land far from Muspelheim, how will they shape it?
1. Tick Tick Tick

It was a surreal thing, to watch a world die. There was sadness, to be sure. A mournfulness to the whole affair. Yet beauty as well, to see something end. Death is so often ugly, except in rare cases.

The world of YGGDRASIL was dying. Ending. And everything that had ever been done within it, would turn to nothing. Every character, player avatar or otherwise. Every guild, ambitious or foolhardy. Years of intrigue and alliances and betrayals. It would all cease to exist. Though sad, there was a grace in its few remaining hours. Reassurance in finality.

At least, that's what Lurk thought.

He had not wanted to log on. He did not want to watch the world die. Harmony, his love, his life, his wife of nearly a decade, had been the one to convince Lurk to stand with her on the precipice of Ragnarok. The man had gotten on late. There was only an hour left. Just a single short hour. He saw the GM message announcing the final countdown and his heart sank.

YGGDRASIL had once consumed every spare moment, and every extra dollar the couple had. There had been a time when they had counted their names among some of the highest ranking guilds. Been a part of some of the greatest conflicts. Struck some of the most lucrative trade deals. Once upon a time, the Dive-MMO had been the king. No other boasted the level of customization. No other game had the same depth as the nine grand worlds of YGGDRASIL.

Even though at one point Lurk would have been okay with letting it all fade away, he was glad Harmony had maintained their guildhall until the end. A careful balance and a lot of rare items meant that the upkeep of their base was always covered. However, regular logins from at least one guild member was still needed. After so much time, Harmony could not let it go. Harmony did not blame him for not having the same dedication. His job was exhausting, and was what supported them as well as a rather excessive amount of cash shop spending. Yet another reason it was hard to let go.

Because of his body's shape, it would have been easy to assume Lurk for a simple Dragonkin, with his rich burgundy scales, long tail, and reptilian muzzle, the resemblances ended there. His character stood more upright and did not have the same bulk. Much like a traditional RPG where the enemy leader was sleeker, and deadlier. The male had Wyrmblood and bore the mark of the Ancient Dragon Incarnate. The two racials had the distinct moniker of being Heteromorphic. His scales were a rich, burgundy hue.

Half-dragon was a more appropriate description of Harmony's avatar. From the elbow on and from the knee down, she had purely draconic traits. Slit-pupil eyes peaked out from a soft, human face. For the most part, her torso was also human. The Scarlet Drake traits gave a bright, crimson cast to her reptilian extremities. While the Scalebound of her essence speckled her entire body, even her normal skin, with glinting golden scales.

Both had pronounced horn structures to reflect their racial levels.

Lurk's began with an aggressive set of ram-like horns that spiraled back from where his human hairline would have been. The other pair sprouted from the top of his skull and had a more traditional draconic shape, being thicker and mostly straight with the slightest curl near their points. Both sets were darker and had hairline cracks which leaked a ruddy glow between pronounced ridges, denoting the Ancient modifier.

Although daintier, Harmony's were no less impressive. Hers were a beautiful double pair of ivory horns that corkscrewed around one another like dancers caught in a helix crown that branched and split near the points. Fiery hair hung thickly down from her scalp.

Both stood as regal monarchs in a far off kingdom. They were rulers of a very small guild. Black Sky only ever had three members. Though they had only ever been or ever were, three, together they were legion. If someone did not know them, it would have been forgivable to mistake the pair for king and queen of some draconic principality. Their design and bearing were regal.

Now that they were standing together in their Hall of Memories, Lurk definitely did not regret logging in one final time. If only to say goodbye to it all. It was a massive corridor that connected the end of the eighth floor to the final ninth. Lurk had placed it there as a showoff connection between the last two floors that led to the throne room.

They were at the beginning. The very beginning. Their starting weapons, a level one shortsword and a level one bow. The most humble beginnings. Everyone started somewhere, and it was good to remember. Even though that furthest memory was hazy, they both could recall the feeling. The joy and wonder of truly stepping into another world for the first time.

"I can't believe this was so long ago." Lurk started, voice heavy with nostalgia. With a gesture, he summoned the bow. It was so small. So weak. The string had such little poundage he could have pulled the string with a stern look.

"Doesn't feel like it, huh?" Harmony agreed. She was engrossed in her own recollection. That first time holding a sword, feeling it bite into the tutorial monsters. That was what she treasured. Even though the physical feedback of the neural connection was dampened, the heft of a blade remained.

"Not at all." He said, glancing at his wife. YGGDRASIL could not render facial expressions, so her lips did not move as she spoke. Another wave of his claw returned the small bent piece of wood to its place.

The hall was lined end to end with such shrines. Framed paintings that were actually screen shots taken. Sculptures commemorating victories. Tapestries representing alliances and wars. Armor stands. Weapon racks. Trinkets and cosmetic items and curiosities. Defunct Data Crystals and raid trophies. The entire history of their guild and by extension, their whole playtime, laid out on a timeline of sorts.

Setting off down the hall, Lurk's next stop was an armor stand with a grand window of stained glass behind it. Where six went down into a vault, and stood against the timelord on his throne. The suit of armor was of a much lower level, but a perfect matching set for Lurk's race and frame.

"I'll never forget this one run of the Crystal Sepulcher. Do you remember that one guy? Augh. What was his name. We only raided with him once or twice. He ran it... What, twenty times? He was just missing the helmet."

"And you got the whole armor set in a single run." Even though her character could not smile, there was audible mirth in her tone. She had heard the story a hundred times, yet indulged her husband all the same. "But, you never got the Centurion's Gaze." She teased him.

The very next alcove held the glittering crystal greatbow in question. The weapon itself was rather niche in application. Not many could appreciate its strength. And although only few ever sought the Centurion, shockingly few ever got it to drop. Harmony never missed an opportunity to remind Lurk that she was the one who finally got it. Unfortunately, all the drops from the Crystal Sepulcher were Soulbound, and non-transferable. Lurk never even got the chance to use it when its quality made it worthwhile. Like so much, it was now just a pretty wall decoration. A mark that they were there. That they had seen it. Which was a boast few could make.

"This thing is so old you can't even get the upgrade material anymore." He remarked, admiring it for its aesthetic if nothing else.

"I got rid of all mine before they discontinued it. I traded it for something." Harmony, ever the savvy deal-maker, was the reason they had accumulated so much wealth. Their treasury levels were normally reserved for thirty-person guilds.

"I never threw it away." Said Lurk, hoarder of junk.

"Hmph, implying that I throw things away." She retorted, having spent real money to expand her personal inventory in the name of junk.

Lurk moved his arms in an exaggerated way, giving his best shrug. The physical expression was a better stand-in than the hollow emote pop ups.

"Hmph," The dragon lady said with a flick of her tail before moving on to the next alcove. "Oh my gosh do you remember when we went through all that trouble on the release day of Naught but Niflheim? I think we dove for thirty straight hours."

"I remember you making those cupcakes in the expansion's colors. Oh man, and those jalapeno poppers. Those were good. The cream cheese and the bacon? Yeah." Lurk's mouth could not actually water, but his hunger reminded him that after the shutdown he would have to eat and go straight to bed. His work needed him to take third shift for a few days.

"Then all the boss dropped was that stupid hat."

The backlash against the devs had been a little intense after that one. Their guild-mate, Woodsolution had been the one to compare the hat to reindeer antlers, and Harmony had applied her digital editing skills to give the picture a cherry red nose. Finally, Lurk had been the one to take the picture and post it to the official forums. Afterwards, none of them could look at the ridiculous thing without being reminded of a Christmas decoration. They had even adorned the gaudy thing with a multi-colored string light from one such seasonal event.

Although a blessed reprieve from the crushing sorrow, even the most genuine nostalgia was tainted. All the preserved sights would soon be gone, only to exist in living memory. Some of it had no in-game, or material value. Which made them priceless.

Then they came to one of their mutual favorites.

On a weapon rack were a trio of identical halberds. Highly powerful, and reasonably rare. They were a specialized, set drop from a specific weekly event. The loot pool for the event however was incredibly vast. And somehow against a near statistical impossibility, the three of them, Lurk, Harmony, and their absent guild-mate had all gotten the exact same drop.

The husband and wife both shared a competitive streak. Their old guild-mate had too. It culminated into a hunger for challenge. They all thrived on pushing their limits.

It was for that reason they frequented the harshest, most inhospitable regions of YGGDRASIL's worlds. Muspelheim in particular, was their favorite, and the location of their Citadel. The dangers of the region went beyond merely hostile mobs. Incredibly lucrative drops dotted the landscape, but only for those quick and clever enough to seize them. And, if a player wanted to exploit the riches offered by the most environmentally dangerous regions, there were few methods of protection.

There were only two reliable ways to best the hells offered by those far fields. Items, or character builds. The items were beyond countenance, their cost ruinous. Whereas builds, be they job or racial, were held in disdain. Only certain guilds understood the real benefits of having avatars that could go where no one else could. Your average player did not see the value in such high resistance builds. At least until they needed something that only dropped from a particular chest situated beneath a magma river at the bottom of a volcano.

Soon they crossed the threshold in the hall delineating when they had acquired The Citadel.

The Citadel. Their Citadel. Guildhall of Black Sky Legion.

The dungeon had been a special one. The developers had experimented with endurance raids, where only a very small team could take on the challenge. Sometimes only six, and even as few as three.

The problem was that they had forgotten to appropriately tune the difficulty during the first days and accidentally left the mob levels suited to parties of more normal raids. For three weeks, nearly every dungeon remained unconquered until the developers were able to recognize and correct their mistakes. They earned the nickname; Burn Dungeons, for the intensity likened to fighting an inferno. Only a few teams accomplished the feat.

Every group or guild that managed to defeat the raid boss of a Burn Dungeon during those first three weeks received numerous special rewards. Although Black Sky Legion did not conquer The Citadel on the first week, after a grueling grind and hours of planning, the three members defeated the dungeon on the tenth day. For their efforts, they were awarded the vanquished Elder Dracolich, the former raid boss. Who then stood as the first NPC for their new guildhall.

One of the first alcoves from that time held a very simple portrait. It was a picture Lurk had taken that always gave him a smile on the inside. Despite how Harmony hated it, she knew it made him happy.

Framed from Lurk's perspective, the painting showed Harmony deep in concentration. Even through their avatars did not have facial expressions, the intensity was clear in her posture. In her scaly crimson hands, was the helmet of her first NPC, Legion. On the table where she sat was a spread of different plumes of style and color, with many more Data Crystals ready to be used. The console for imputing information was open to her right, the holographic display illuminating her right side with a teal glow.

They became lost in the sea of memory, until the GM message announcing the final countdown shattered the illusion of the past with all the subtlety of a freight train.

The couple could have spent hours down that hall, just laughing and crying in equal measure. Yearning made the heart grow fonder, and how they yearned to revisit those rose-tinted days. The game had reached precipitous heights in its prime. Then, it had faded. As all things did, in time.

All things, except their love. That could only ever grow. Love was real magic in the way it could go backwards through time, until neither of them could remember a time where they did not love one another. Their might, and their deeds, could fill the hall a dozen times and though Ragnarok would fall, their love would endure even the end of the world.

The gamers reached the end of their path, with the hall opening into the seat of power in The Citadel.

On the floor of the throne room, was the grand crest of their guild. Three cruciform longswords, aligned parallel to one another, with the middle slightly higher than the other two, all imposed on the silhouette of a black sun. The entire space had been designed to give the massive, yet minimalist design the center of attention.

As with so much else, the throne had been a collaborative effort for the three guild-mates. Before they had conquered The Citadel, the trio worked from one of the central cities. In a hidden alley, they had stumbled upon a courtyard with a twisted tree, said to be a depiction of the World Tree in miniature. Between raids, outings, and sometimes just to hang out, the three had sat upon its roots, or hung from its gnarled branches. All three had fantasized what a wonderful throne it would have made. A perfect replica of that tree, itself a rendition of the greatest in all the nine worlds, had been made with three seats worked into it.

That was the throne of Black Sky Legion. And behind it, was a symbol of their wealth.

Nova Crystal. A Prismatic Ore found in Muspelheim. Though not as valuable as the universally recognized Celestial Uranium, it was still a resource of incalculable potential. A vast, unbroken wall of it stretched from floor to vaulted ceiling behind their throne. The material bore closer resemblance to obsidian with its black, glassy luster. An aurora of color danced and undulated through the ore. Only on such an expanse could the soul of the mana-reactive crystal be really seen.

It was a daunting waste of the resource, to be used only for decoration. The triumvirate had spent years stockpiling the ore. On his own, Lurk never would have been able to justify the expense. But his wife, and best friend had urged him on. Saying it did them no good just sitting in their treasury. Once done, they had all stood in silence, admiring the way the prismatic whorls seemed almost alive. Looking at it now, he was grateful they had given him the courage to do so.

A respectful silence hung over the space. An unobtrusive cocoon, to compliment the solitude that went with the vigil. In days gone, the chamber would have been cradled in ambient string music. A large harp, and grand piano sat off to one side, with a violin and cello leaning against two chairs. Now, the instruments were still. The order to play had not been given in a long time, and although it would have been nice to hear once again, the sun would soon set on YGGDRASIL.

Only two NPCs were in the throne room itself.

Lurk and Harmony had designed the pair together. Combined, they were the Guardian Overseer.

Two parts of a single whole. The brothers, Nox and Crisis. One light. One dark. They kneeled before the thrones, in reflection of one another. Their worn capes spilled out onto the floor behind them in rivers of silver and grey. Pointed steel helms and high collared leather vests hid all but their eyes. Each was covered head to toe in a mixture of steel plate armor, chainmail, and leather. Nox wore a gauntlet and shoulder piece only on his left arm, and Crisis, the right. A nobility hung from the pair like a mantle. There was strength in the steadfast resolution the two represented.

No compromise, even in the face of Ragnarok.

It felt right to Lurk that the brothers made during their own golden age, were the witnesses to his and Harmony's final moments. The monarchs took their places on the central and right-hand seat of their throne. Each was dressed up in their Sunday best. It was the last day, and if the world was going to end, they were going to look damn good when it did. The woman favored a more fantasy, knightly look to her gear, while her husband leaned heavily towards more militaristic themes.

If YGGDRASIL's creators had nailed one thing to true perfection, it was the endgame.

The game's first and truest boast had been freedom. The ability for the players to create anything and everything. From character, to class, to gear. A simple cloak could have enough data invested in it to where the style of stitching on the hem could be customized. Harmony really had not taken off her best equipment in a long time. Sometimes when she had logged on to perform basic maintenance, she had played dress up, finding her most stylish or best pieces. Lurk had taken a moment to put on his best gear. Even after many years of having it, he was still covetous of it.

Harmony excelled as a digital graphics artist, and used her skills to great effect. Their guild's emblem design had been hers. While Lurk had studied programming in order to better implement subtle effects for enchantments, data crystals, and NPC behavior. They had both spent many sleepless nights watching dozens of hours of tutorials where others explained how to get the most out of YGGDRASIL's creation mechanics.

From helmet to sabaton, Harmony had poured her heart and soul into the armor she wore.

Divine class. The highest data level attainable via player creation in the game.

Her armor was not just a collection of in-game items, it was the depiction of a legacy. A legacy of conquests and friendships. Where Lurk tended to have a multitude of smaller projects, Harmony had dedicated herself to more elaborate pursuits. Some of the pieces she had spent years on. Even when she had won treasures beyond counting, mountains of gold and vaults of data crystals, the gamer hardly ever put any of it toward herself. She always made sure that Lurk had that next upgrade he had been pining after, or that the guild's coffers were always growing.

Only after the most momentous dungeon crawls or trades did she spend on herself.

That care and effort showed through the intricacy of her armor. On its own, the boots with their adamantite buckles had marched from one end of the nine worlds to the other. The crimson-edged, segmented gauntlets that protected her scaly claws had felt the death throes of a thousand bosses. She had even gone through the trouble of adding cosmetic blemishes, chips and scratches to the knuckles and top. The chest piece stood out most of all, with her own rendition of their crest. The three blades were held in branches of a different tree, an oak, with the design inlaid using different Prismatic Ores.

She referred to the ensemble, as Grand Alliance.

Lurk in turn had no good name for the Divine armored greatcoat he had made for his avatar. He preferred to wear it open to show off his segmented breastplate and greaves. His guild symbol he wore on his back so that no matter who gazed upon the couple, their unity would be visible from any angle.

"I wish Woodsolution could have made it." Lurk sighed. "He's been working a lot."

"Me too. He'd be here if he could. We haven't played with him in a while." Harmony agreed. "There really hasn't been any good cooperative Dive games lately."

"I think the last one we put any decent time into was The Divide." The Incarnate Dragon thought on the brief life that poor game had enjoyed. Their playtime had been marred by a great initial interest, followed by cataclysmic failure on the game's end.

"Hm, you both enjoyed it more than I did."

"You enjoyed destroying those poor under-leveled newbies in the midnight arena too."

"True, but that first 'half-raid' killed it for me. I wanted you to help me on Cretaceous Kingdom."

"I know. And I did, for a while. Our private server got kinda boring."

"You just get bored so easily." Though her avatar's face did not move in the slightest, there was sorrow in her tone.

Lurk nodded guiltily. She knew him too well.

"I know, sugar. Thank you for taking care of everything. For logging in and making sure The Citadel didn't decay. Even though we really haven't played YGGDRASIL in so long, I'm still grateful we could be here one last time. I'm glad we could... Say goodbye to everything."

They both took in the view from their thrones. Of the guild crest. Of Nox and Crisis both kneeling.

"Hey," Lurk reached a claw out for his wife. "Thanks for getting me to log in. I love you."

Harmony unequipped a gauntlet and entwined her digits in his. Their reds both blended together. Her gold flecked, crimson scales molded with his dark, rich red. She gave him a reassuring squeeze and a smile emote popped above her head. Even though the touch was dulled, Lurk was grateful.

"I love you too, baby. Thank you for doing this for me. Even though you didn't want to." Harmony answered.

"It's not that I didn't want to log on because I was tired of our Citadel. I just didn't want to watch it..." He trailed off, unable to finish the statement.

"I know you didn't have to. I'm still glad you did."

They shared a sigh, then Lurk spoke again.

"You remember what we'd always say? The slogan I thought of? We will fight until the sun burns out, and Black Sky comes." Hope. Regret. Nostalgia. Longing. All paired with a wistfulness that made his words airy, as fading and ephemeral as their tenuous hold on the defunct reality.

"Yeah, until Black Sky comes." Harmony answered, heart straining in the unforgiving grasp of woe.

They both sighed again and watched the final countdown in their HUDs in mutual mourning.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The time counted down as inexorably as it always did. A grindstone of infinitesimal inevitability, with all the universe in its thrall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A hundred moments of glory flashed in Lurk's mind. So much pain. So much triumph. So much time spent in this world whose life was measured in seconds. The hall he and his wife had traversed was only the tip of the iceberg of the lives they had led.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

At least he had those memories. At least Harmony stood by him, as she always had. His eternity. Time would grind on, but their love had no end. YGGDRASIL was something that they had shared, which meant every moment spent was worth it.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

This was it. The last gasp. Meaningless moments that were anything but. Lurk's heart bore the weight of years. Years he did not regret. Not even for a second. Harmony squeezed his claw hard, bracing for the impact of forced disconnection.

Tick...

Tick. Tick. Tick.

What?

Lurk inhaled sharply and heard his wife do the same.

What happened?

That breath, his first gasp that was supposed to be the last, rushed through him as if the hourglass of eternity had chosen that moment to give Lurk a singular boon. The smallest, simplest, second most valuable commodity in the universe, aside from love.

Time.

It all happened within that single lungful of air. Suddenly he was feeling. Seeing. Smelling. Nostrils flared, eyes wide, he took another, tasting the cool air of the throne room. Everything became sharper. The lighting was more dynamic.

"My Lord? Lady? Are you both feeling alright?" Nox lifted his head to regard his liege from under the brim of his helm.

"Nox, sweetie. You're... Talking." Harmony stared with her mouth agape. The Dragon Incarnate looked at his Scarlet Drake.

Nox and Crisis glanced at one another. Both of them were moving!

"Of course, my Lady." The Guardian said with a nod.

Lurk looked at his wife and saw her face move. Immediately he pulled his claw from her loose grip and poked her cheek. The soft, scaled speckled surface dimpled inward under his push. Not only did her face behave realistically, he felt her warmth.

"Hun..." He barely managed, mind both running a mile a minute and at a complete standstill. The Dragon Incarnate froze. When he spoke, he had felt his face move. And his own voice sounded foreign. Deeper. Resonant in its draconic pitch.

"Nox," He started hesitantly, trying to keep the scales from crawling off himself as he turned to face the kneeling suddenly sapient being.

"Yes, my Lord? What would you have your shadow do?"

"You understand me." Lurk said more for himself than anything.

"Naturally." The Shade stated as if this were the normal state of affairs.

"You're responding in a dynamic way."

"If you wish to call my responses so far, dynamic, then I'm sure more complex sentences will be a marvel, my Lord." The Guardian's tone carried not even the barest hint of rudeness. Only flawless inflection of snark.

"Nox," Lurk's eyes narrowed and pointed a claw directly at the Shade.

"Yes, Lord?" He responded innocently.

"Less smartassery for now, please." Lurk responded, thinking that if the artificial intelligence was witty enough to back-sass him, it was able to tone it down too.

"Of course, my Lord." Nox reached up and dipped the rim of his helm in a nod.

The lovers turned to regard one another.

"There's no way. YGGDRASIL can't do this. Look at me. Look at us talking!" Harmony's bright crimson eyes flashed with the promise she dared utter. Had they been plunged into a new game? Was this a secret sequel?

"Are we real?" Lurk said, reaching once again for his love's face. He gave her jaw the most gentle of touches, tracing it with the tip of a claw before cupping her cheek.

"We feel real." Harmony reached up and touched the back of his claw, testing the breadth of their new sensations for herself. "Our HUDs are gone. And there's no call function. I think we're on our own."

"Do you love me?" Was his gut reaction. He knew she did. He knew that she loved him as surely as he knew the fundamental forces of the very universe were immutable.

"Always." She answered without hesitation. Even though her voice was different, Lurk recognized her.

"Then we'll figure it out. As long as you're with me." His scaly muzzle turned up into what his brain translated as a smile. Harmony reciprocated, and a good deal of alarm was lifted from both of them.

"You don't think the others are alive now, too? Do you?" She ventured, eyes darting to their living, breathing creations.

"If Nox and Crisis are..." He trailed off. "There's really only one way to find out." The monarch released his spouse's face and turned to his knight. "Nox," He hesitated for a moment. "Gather the floor Guardians. Have them come to the throne room as quickly as they can."

"Right away, High Lord." The Shade stood, bowed deeply, and melted into the floor. The pool of inky dark shot off down the hall. Crisis followed his brother the normal way after giving his own bow.

"Darlin', I have an idea. I know for certain how to tell if we're still in a game." Lurk rubbed his chin now that they were alone. His reptilian muzzle moving as he talked was so detailed he could feel his tongue playing along his fangs.

"What?" She asked, eagerly fidgeting in her seat, equally appalled and enthralled by her tail suddenly sending signals to her brain.

"Take off your chest piece." He said with an offhanded gesture.

"Why?" She asked, thinking her husband had finally lost his mind.

"Because if we got sucked into YGGDRASIL two or some other crazy experimental game or something, then I won't be able to touch your breasts." Of course the married couple had tried many, many times to try and find ways around YGGDRASIL's ban on inappropriate touching. They understood it was to prevent harassment, but could a pair of lovebirds not have fun every now and again?

"You wanna grope me? I mean, that's a... Oh! Oh, I get it! If it's still a Dive-MMO, then you won't be able to do something X-rated." The Scalebound woman bobbed her head emphatically.

"Exactly."

With a gesture, Harmony's chest plate disappeared. She still wore chainmail with a thick leather shirt underneath. But with the rigid armor out of the way, she just rolled up the hem of her chainmail until only her shirt showed. With all the infinite possibilities of avatar creation, Harmony had given herself a generous chest. Nothing crudely overinflated like some woman (and men pretending to be women) were fond of doing, but ample bosom nonetheless.

Lurk reached his claws out and grabbed hold of his wife's breasts. He was careful, still highly suspect of their circumstances. Globes of squishy goodness that were a distinctly mammalian trait fit perfectly into his palms. Both of them watched the monarch fondle his wife's new body through her shirt. He felt something firm, and gave a little pinch without thinking.

"Ah!" Harmony cried out. Lurk pulled his claws back sharply.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No, no, no. It felt good! Like, really, actually, that made my nipples hard in a good way... Good." She explained, letting the hem of her chainmail back down with her cheeks turning a bright rosy red. Not only did she acutely feel the links of the mail on her breasts, but the heat that ignited in her face as well. With another gesture, she put her chest plate back on in a hurry. Lurk had to quash the libidinous urge to make love to his wife then and there.

They already had company.

A streak of living green flame entered the throne room. The trail of emerald fire coalesced into the first Guardian to arrive.

The elven lady carried an air of menace. Skin as pale as death, the elf wore her alabaster silk dress with an aspect of deadly promise. The front of her dress split at the knee, showing off the filigree stockings. She walked barefoot, with every other step accompanied by a chime of the many brass anklets on her left leg. A veil and a lower jaw mask worked into a grinning Oni obscured the features below eyes sharp enough to pierce the reaper himself. A waterfall of tenebrous hair was kept in check by a loose fishtail braid and barbed wire.

Dreadsoul. Despoiler. Phage the Untouchable of the sixth floor, was all this and more.

From their many adventures, Black Sky had obtained blueprints to manufacture large obelisks that emitted what essentially boiled down to radiation. Anyone who set foot on the ash plains or attempted to pierce the Darksteel fortresses, would be subjected to a constant bathing of radiation. It was an insidious debuff that did not cause damage, but rather reduced max hitpoints over time. Invisible and extortionately difficult to defend and purge from a player's avatar once accrued, almost no one prepared themselves for it, let alone even knew about it.

Phage approached the throne with musical steps and stopped a respectful distance and assumed a pose more appropriate of a ballet dancer, crossing her ankles and holding out a hand.

"Ah, I see I'm first to arrive. It is a privilege to be in the presence of your might, High Lord Lurk. And your insurmountable beauty, Lady Harmony."

"Phage, thank you for coming on such short notice." Lurk affected his best customer service tone.

The Plague Elf grabbed the folds of her dress and curtsied with a brass jingle.

"Nothing could keep me from answering the call of the Supreme Beings. You have but tell me what stands in your way, High Lord, and it shall be dust. My Corsairs and I await your command. We are eager to hunt." Phage had what could be described as a frail voice. Her words were dainty, tender almost. Yet much like an ash flower dipped in blood, elegant appearance belied a monstrous covenant in her assertions.

The next Guardian followed hotly on the Despoiler's heels.

To see Skitharix walking with intelligent intent was fascinating like watching a train wreck in motion. Though horrific, it was mesmerizing all the same. Lurk considered, not for the first time, if he had overdone it with the guardian's design.

Skitharix, avatar of madness, wore robes made of literal skin. Beneath which, the Flesh Keeper smoldered with molten un-life that made the inside of his hood glow a hellish orange. Only the matte black metal of his skeletal jaw could be glimpsed. Each Guardian was a reflection of their floor. None more so than Skitharix. The fourth floor was an unhinged dimension where the normal laws of reality had been tortured into more interesting shapes. Temples hung from the ceiling while columns of shredded steel burst from the ground at strange angles. Helix pylons covered in pulsing glyphs that hurt to look at spread passive [Aura of Insanity], dotted the floor.

"Dread lady, Phage the Untouchable, what has this humble servant done to deserve to stand in the presence of so much radiance?" The words issued forth like gargled stone as the Flesh Keeper's talons clicked on the marble floor.

The hunched giant held out a hand made of knives when he came to his fellow Guardian's side. With a feminine motion, Phage laid her silk covered fingers on his. Skitharix raised it and guided the Plague Elf in a twirl, as one would a dancing partner. Then stepped back with a bow.

"You indulge me so, dread maiden. Mmm, if only I could add you to my... Permanent collection." With the tip of a finger-blade, he traced her outline in the air.

The titter from Phage could raze nations.

"Tisk, tisk, dear, you know that living art is the greatest expression. Besides, your knives would melt off in the process." She responded as sweetly as arsenic tea.

"Alas, such is the torment of an artist such as I. Only our Supreme Beings can create true masterpieces. I gaze upon evidence of such even now."

"Flatterer," Phage teased with a flip of her hair.

"Skitharix," Lurk called to his creation.

"My Lord, Lurk. I am humbled to be in the presence of one with such vision. There are no greater creators than the supreme rulers of The Citadel." The hunched figure leaned further as he bent a knee and sank lower.

"If the Mad Hatter invites you to his table, what drink would you choose?" Asked the king, tilting forward on his throne.

"Only the finest of his perspective, my Lord. Be it through, above, or even beyond." The Guardian answered more smoothly than a fine grain whetstone.

"Yep, that's definitely Skitharix." Lurk said with a tinge of amusement.

Harmony tugged on his coat and spoke under her breath.

"Lurk, sweetheart, what the actual hell did you just say? What does that mean?" His fiery Scarlet Dragoness demanded.

"Honestly, sugar, I just wondered if he would react to an allusion to Alice In Wonderland like I wrote in his character info." Lurk's scaly muzzle was split with a Cheshire grin.

Both of their attentions were drawn away with the entrance of the next.

A hulking figure made of shining platinum full plate strode into the throne room.

"Lady Harmony! High Lord Lurk! Your Legion is here." The Living Armor marched forth and pounded his gauntlet on the massive round shield he carried, while his axe remained strapped to his back. Legion announced his arrival with all the fanfare of a grand cathedral bell, red helmet plume standing up proudly. With the confidence of titans and a spirit of sterner stuff still, he nodded in greeting to his fellow Guardians and raised his shield in salute to his Supreme Beings.

Legion presided over the third floor and the Eternal War that took place there. Huge formations of Silver Knights skirmished against one another on a large flat plain around the clock. The sound of blades clashing was an unceasing clamor as the Living Armor of the Eternal War never tired with their War Priest standing vigil over it all.

Unable to hold herself back any further, Harmony leapt from her seat and ran to her creation. She had to know. She had to touch him, to make sure he was real, and not just a dream. In a few bounding steps, the Scalebound closed the distance and jumped with her arms wide. Grand Alliance hit Legion with a loud clang as he gave a booming laugh of joy and caught her.

Harmony's doubt was dispelled the moment Legion hugged her back.

Even though neither would say it, Phage and Skitharix were in that moment very jealous of the affection their compatriot was receiving from his creator.

Lurk cleared his throat. While it was hard to retain his own composure, the Guardians were still an unknown element to him. He was unsure what would be expected of them. How did they think Lurk and Harmony should be acting? What would earn their loyalty. He was thankful when his wife broke her embrace and took her place on his right once more.

Just in time too.

Commanding the Demi-Claw Sharpshooters that crewed the Alpha and Omega bunkers of the first and second floors were Wrath and twin Deathclaws bounded across the throne room on all fours in their eagerness. Even larger than their Demi-Claw brethren, the Deathclaw was an imposing species. They were a bipedal reptilian race with long humanoid arms. Massive racial bonuses gave them incredible agility and strength. While the lesser Claws were mostly simple in color, the twins exhibited the great variation that could be found.

They skidded to a halt at the foot of the throne. Like puppies, their large crocodilian tails wagged uncontrollably behind them. Each of them were decked from snout to talon in combat armor more befitting a science fiction setting. Lurk had a lot of fun designing sentient Deathclaws with guns and Valkyrie's Downfall and its subsequent expansions had given him a lot of choices.

"Lord Lurk! Lady Harmony!" Wrath the Commando began, her chameleon exterior shifting in happy blues with streaks of purple.

"We came as fast as we could!" Ruin the Seigebreaker added, her Glowing One breed giving a green luminescence to edge her darker hide.

"We're so happy you called." Wrath bubbled, nodding her head until she was dizzy.

"What are your orders?" Ruin was one espresso shot away from vibrating through the floor.

"Who do we get to shoot?" Wrath patted the strap of her rifle, Deusvore.

"What do we get to blow up?" Ruin clenched and unclenched the large talons of her race, yearning for the trigger of Absolution Through Ordinance.

Wrath glanced sidelong at her sister.

"I bet I'll blow up more than you." She challenged.

"Nuh-uh." Ruin retorted.

"Yes-huh!" Wrath butted her forehead against her sister's, horns locking together. Before Lurk could get a word in the two had grappled together. As they wrestled, the two were just a ball of Deathclaw that rolled about, their bickering voices indecipherable over their limbs smacking the floor. Phage and Skitharix stepped nimbly out of their way without batting an eye. When the pair rolled by Legion, he deftly grabbed each of them by the scruff of their necks and separated the squabbling sisters.

"Behave you two! You're in the presence of the Supreme Ones! Show a little restraint." Legion mustered his best disapproving uncle voice and set the twins back on their feet.

"We're sorry." Their voices echoed together as they apologized.

Last to arrive, an undead dragon approached. Crisis and Nox followed closely behind, their task complete.

The wedded monarchs had great trepidation where Novus was concerned. They had not made the great Dracolich. He had been a gift. A reward for completing The Citadel when it had been a Burn Dungeon. The true undead presided over the eighth and final floor. The level was the largest by a great magnitude, being home to The Scar, and Effluvial Tide. The Scar was a winding canyon with a river of lava flowing from end to end. Greater Wyvern nests covered the walls of the canyon. At the end of which lay the final physical barrier before the ninth floor.

The nest of Novus himself was called the Effluvial Tide. All three members of the guild had agreed to leave it more or less unchanged from when it was the final level of the dungeon. A miasma of choking, toxic gas filled the entire space. The Gravelord himself could control the Effluvial Tide, making a passive defensive screen a weapon unto itself. If you were unwelcome, the air itself would strangle and suffocate.

"And I... Was having such... A wonderful nap." The Gravelord yawned, loose strips of flesh hanging from his jowls.

"Novus!" Wrath and Ruin cried and ran to the sedately walking dragon. They wove between his forelimbs and under his belly in their excitability. More or less ignoring the twins, yet still careful not to accidentally squish either of the two, Novus approached.

The Dracolich had a peculiar nobility to him. Dragons had been the most powerful creatures in the world of YGGDRASIL. They were the gamer couple's favorite fantasy beings, and had even chosen player races to reflect that. There was no great hurry to the Gravelord's gait.

"Save for the Leviathan, all floor Guardians have been assembled." Nox announced. At his word, every Guardian lined up before the throne. Lurk and Harmony sat straighter in their seats as their NPCs collectively kneeled. Except for Novus, who essentially just laid himself down.

"Wrath!" The first Deathclaw cheered.

"And Ruin!" The twin sister added. Then they spoke as one.

"Guardians of the first and second floors. We pledge our lives to Black Sky Legion. We are the tip of the spear. And the bullet for every face! No enemy can come to the Citadel without knowing Wrath, and Ruin."

"Legion! Named so after the promise of our Black Sky. Guardian of the third floor. My axe, my shield, my life, for my Lady and Lord. I am the promise that though I am one, I am Legion." With a mighty crash, the Living Armor slammed his metal fist to the left side of his chest.

"Skitharix, shepherd of the Flayers, conductor of the grand symphony of madness. Guardian of the fourth floor. All trespassers are unclean, rife with sickness. And I shall be their surgeon." A mildly disturbing series of clicks and snicking sounds issued from the robes of flesh that hung from the kneeling Abomination as he moved his finger knives.

"Phage, given the title 'Untouchable', by the Supreme Beings. Guardian of the sixth floor. Every foe shall look upon me, and know despair. Then, they will be ash." Phage's voice carried her final promise with a certainty akin to splitting atoms.

"Nox, and Crisis. Guardian Overseers, and protectors of the Seventh floor. Together, we are the will of Black Sky made real." Nox spoke for his mute brother with conviction enough for each of them twice over.

"Novus, Gravelord... Keeper of the Effluvial Tide. Guardian of the eighth floor. None can fell me, for my... Every breath, belongs to the true... King and Queen of The Citadel." The grand Dracolich wheezed.

In unison, every Guardian assembled spoke their final vows. Their voices layered atop one another in ineffable unity. The chorus shook the hall and exulted the monarch's spirits in equal measure.

"We pledge ourselves to High Lord Lurk, and Lady Harmony. Our lives for the Legion. We are your Guardians. And we shall fight until the sun burns out, and Black Sky comes."

Once Lurk understood that the Guardians were really alive, he was apprehensive that their first course of action would be to either turn on the pair, or abandon them. When the assembled NPCs swore themselves to Black Sky with such vehement conviction, Lurk's worry melted like frost before the dawning of a new world.


	2. Whatever Form We Take

**And so our story rightfully begins.**

**Warning! Graphic depiction of acts between two married, consenting adults ahead! You have been warned!**

**Or possibly intrigued.**

***BSL***

"Rise, Guardians."

At the command of their absolute ruler, every assembled denizen of The Citadel stood. Well, except Novus, who started to lift up, and only managed his front half. Even if he had tried, Lurk would not have been able to hide the grin that threatened to rip the corners of his mouth. For a moment he sat, awestruck. His gaze rolled from one to the next. The man, now king, knew them utterly. He knew their every facet. He had been there from the moment they had been conceived as ideas, to code, and now to flesh and blood and steel.

"Thank you all for coming so quickly. My wife and I wanted to see you for ourselves. I'm glad you're all well." His first impulse was to be perfectly honest with them. "Something has happened to our world. A fundamental paradigm has moved. I don't know what that means for us, but we must have the utmost caution." Lurk was not thinking, just acting. It felt like the right thing to say.

"Know thy enemy, and know thyself." Nox accepted the word of his Lord as gospel with all the others nodding at the wisdom.

Lurk had to keep from visibly starting. He had not put that Tzun Tzu in Nox's character information. Had he spoken of it around the Shadowkin when he still only an NPC? How much did they remember? How aware were they back then?

"Our lives are owed to you, Supreme Ones. We carry the blessings you bestowed upon us. Because of that, we shall not fail." The Shadowkin asserted.

Shifting in slight discomfort at the idolatry displayed, the monarch finished quickly.

"Harmony and I have very important matters to discuss about our situation. Be vigilant. Be safe. We must be prepared for anything. Nox, please only disturb us if there's an emergency."

"As you command, High Lord Lurk."

"Teleport to our room." The Ancient Dragon said under his breath to his wife, holding out his claw for her to grab onto. Harmony threaded her digits through his and reached for her magic without thinking. Though their HUDs were gone, desire became reality and they were whisked away in a small flash of light.

In the quiet reverie that followed, Phage was the first to speak the simple truth that held them all enthralled.

"They... They stayed with us."

This one observation encapsulated the secret fear that every one of them had harbored for many years. It was equal parts relief, disbelief, and wonder.

"Aren't they just the coolest!" Wrath was quick to squeal, bouncing on her feet.

"I know right?" Ruin agreed, doing a little spin.

"And Lady Harmony is so pretty." The Commando said wistfully.

"And smart."

"Lord Lurk was so awesome!"

"I bet he thought I was cooler."

"Nu-uh!"

"Yes huh!"

Once again, the twins locked their horns and became a ball of wrestling Deathclaw.

"Was Lady Harmony not the most radiant thing you have ever seen?! She hugged me! If I were to perish this moment, in this spot, it would be with no regrets. Nothing in this life can every measure up to such triumph." Legion pressed an open palm to his chest where his creator had touched him. Though the Living Armor possessed no physical presence within the plate, he could not shirk the feeling within his cuirass. He was completely lost in the recollection. So lost in fact, he did not even notice the sisterly squabble roll by him.

"Nox," Phage approached the Overseer brothers. "You felt it too, didn't you?"

"What did you feel?" Skitharix looked between Phage and Nox. They were both difficult to read.

"A stirring. Something behind my eyes." The Shadowkin explained.

"Like taking a deep breath before plunging into water." Phage the untouchable remarked, taking a sharp intake through her Oni mask.

The Guardians of the fourth, sixth, and brothers of the seventh were quiet for a moment, each contending with different impressions.

"Now that I've had time to reflect on it, there is something different. My Flayers are restless. They tell me the Pylons are nearly frenzied. For good or ill, it is hard to say. We must protect our Lord and Lady. We owe them an unfathomable debt." Skitharix held out an arm, his long knives open in silent adoration to the vacant thrones. "It was beautiful to watch them together. Their unity is truly perfection. How often would we hear of the disharmony that would cause the downfall of others?"

Phage touched the Flesh Keeper's wrist.

"We will protect them. They made us with purpose. With power. We who stand cast in their image cannot fail." Phage said.

Though he could not directly see her face beneath the veil and mask, Skitharix knew she was smiling by the tiny creases under her ghostly eyes. It was a comfort for the Eldritch Construct to touch the beauty second only to his Lady.

Nox nodded to his mute sibling and turned back to the others.

"My brother and I agree. As soon as we hear the word from our Supreme Ones, we shall scout to see what has changed. For now I believe discretion is best. Our movement must not be overt. Our Lord spoke of caution, and we will abide by it. Phage, please post some of your Corsairs at the front gates of The Citadel. They are not to engage, only stay hidden. If anyone or anything approaches, have them contact me immediately." Although he itched to take action, Nox was the shadow of his liege and knew not just Lurk's word, but intent behind the order as well.

"Of course." Phage nodded. Her Plague Elves were best suited to the task. She then looked over at the Living Armor who had yet to move from his spot. "Legion, are you with us, dear?"

As unresponsive third floor Guardian continued staring at the lower-right throne with his gauntlet on his chest. Legion was utterly smitten.

"I know a madman when I see one." Skitharix remarked.

Wrath and Ruin bumped into Novus. The Gravelord yawned languidly and nudged the Deathclaws as a lazy house cat would a ball of yarn. With the most begrudging of efforts, Novus stood once more and turned his ponderous bulk to make his way out of the throne room.

"I bid all my fellow Guardians... Farewell. If anyone needs me, I shall be in my... Second favorite napping spot. It is good we have such a King and Queen. Their strength is as indisputable... As always. Our power... Is theirs. And their power... Is The Citadel's. I am content in this."

Last to come, and first to leave, the Elder summarized his impressions and left to do just as he said he would. The others bid Novus goodbye and continued to hold their counsel.

The twins, still locked in their wrestling match, slammed into Crisis at a decent velocity. The trio were sent sprawling with a crash. Wrath was splayed over the humanoid Guardian's legs while her sister was on his chest, very nearly sitting her not insignificant reptilian rear right on his face. Phage and Skitharix shared a chuckle at their antics.

Dizzy from their extended tumble, the twin sisters moaned and swayed drunkenly.

"Sorry, Crisis." They echoed in unison.

"Alright there, brother?" Nox called.

Crisis raised a hand and gave a thumbs up. The Shade grasped his brother's hand and hauled him to his feet, the twins tumbling off.

"Was it nice to have a face full of Deathclaw p-" Nox's sentence was cut short as the back of his brother's metal gauntlet slapped him in the gut.

"Nox!" Wrath bounced right back and regarded the Guardian overseer like an overgrown puppy.

"Nox!" Not to be outdone by her sister, Ruin crowded up beside her.

"What can we do?" Their voices overlapped again.

"I want you both to lock down Alpha and Omega. If anything bigger than a speck of dust gets in without permission from our Lord or Lady, I want you to shoot it, stab it, set it on fire, blow it up-"

"Then set it on fire again?" Wrath finished his sentence. Nox grabbed one of her horns and tugged it playfully.

"That's absolutely right." When he noticed Ruin pouting at her lack of attention he scratched under her chin until both Deathclaws were wagging their tails happily.

"What shall we do in the meantime?" Inquired Legion, at last regaining himself and joining the discussion.

"Return to your floors. Be ready, as commanded. High Lord Lurk had the right of it. The world has moved. I don't know what this means for us, but we will protect our Supreme Beings. Their counsel is sacred, and their wisdom will guide us. I'm sure they're already planning our next move."

***BSL***

"Holy fucking-"

"I can't even. How-"

"-shit this is amazing. We've got-"

"-is this possible! I know it's incredible-"

"-to figure out what to do."

"-to see them walking!"

"They're so fucking cool."

"This is real!"

"Really really really real!"

"I have a tail!"

"I know! I do too!"

Lurk and Harmony babbled nonsensically at one another for at least twenty straight minutes. Harmony sat on the edge of their ludicrously oversized banister bed holding her tail while Lurk paced furiously back and forth. The guild member's personal room was lit by a few ornate sources. From a fireplace that crackled low, glowing embers cast a cozy warmth that each of them could sense. And a few wall-mounted sconces flickered that suffused the space with pale witch-light.

A molten orange snout poked out from under their bed and sniffed the air. Stopping dead in his tracks, Lurk almost completely lost himself right then and there.

"Hun. Honey. Holy shit. Holy shit, it's Soot. Looklooklook!" Pointing with a claw, his jaw nearly hit the floor.

"What?" Harmony cried out and looked over the edge of the bed. She squealed at the sight of the creature.

About the size of a chubby cat, Soot walked out from under their bed. Catching sight of Lurk, the little dragon rubbed himself against Lurk's shin, nuzzling into his owner. With one claw, he scooped up Soot and held him.

The Gunpowder Dragon had been a drop acquired from a long drawn out quest chain associated with Lurk's Gunpowder Sage job class. In YGGDRASIL, Soot had been a level one pet accessory. Because of their proclivity to... explode, the pet Gunpowder Dragons were all indestructible. The little bundle of doom was considered a joke item. Scorched black scales were covered in tiny adamantite plates and molten lines of glowing magma coursed over the minuscule creature. He would have been just a tiny bit fearsome, if not for the extra belly that gave him more of a rounded appearance.

This final damning evidence clearly meant that Lurk had died and gone to heaven. That was the only way to explain the meeps that poured forth from Soot as Lurk stroked his back and rubbed the top of his head. Harmony reached over and although the pint-sized bundle of scales accepted the attention, he did so with great reluctance.

"Oh my goodness, he's a little shit." She remarked.

"Do you think it's because he was technically equipped to me?" Lurk was most astonished by the feeling of Soot breathing. His little chest expanded and contracted in a way YGGDRASIL wished it could have simulated.

"Could be." Harmony giggled when Soot gave a disgruntled grumble from being held.

Squirming indignantly, Soot wriggled until Lurk put him down. The indestructible little hellion walked over to his tiny bed, nudging the edge of the blanket until his snout was under it and burrowed into the Soot sized pet bed. Clearly, it was nap time as the Gunpowder Dragon gave a heavy sigh and went straight to sleep.

With so much happening, Lurk gazed at his wife and reached out to touch her cheek once again, rubbing one of the little scales along her jaw. The way she smiled back sent his heart into somersaults. Now they had privacy and the Wyrmblood regarded his spouse's body, the urge that had risen in his loins returned. It was a curious, yet familiarly libidinous urge. Harmony noted the flare of his nostrils and the mischief that tugged the corners of his muzzle.

"What?" She asked coyly.

"So... If this is real, like, really real, then you don't suppose we could..." He trailed off.

"Hm?" Harmony cocked her head to one side, thinking of the dozens of possibilities he could be alluding to.

"Do you think these bodies can have sex? Because that would suck if we're just fuckin' barbie dolls down there."

"You've had better pickup lines." She teased.

"True, but was it good enough for you to take off your pants?" He responded.

Standing, the Queen of the citadel gave an exaggerated sigh, then giggled.

"I suppose so."

Lurk distinctly remembered immediately after character creation, Harmony remarking she wanted her avatar to have a 'Slamin' ass'. The general rule of thumb was that anything that was covered by a bikini was off limits for customization. There were small ways around this however. Too much tweaking left the upper body overblown and strangely proportioned, so she did not want freaky-huge boobs. However, thicker thighs meant bigger hips which gave her character the butt she had wanted.

Almost more curious than her husband, Harmony once more used game abilities despite having no HUD. The connection was natural. So many years had ingrained the movements to equip items that it was second nature. With a gesture, all of her armor and most of her clothing vanished. The Scalebound female was left with only her lacy black bra and panties. In the immediate past, it was impossible to even get under the waistband of her underwear and the bra had no clasps.

With her husband practically drooling as he watched, Harmony pulled her top up and her bosom bounced free of its confines. Although not entirely surprised by her breasts because of Lurk's earlier groping letting her know that she did indeed have nipples, it was still nice to take off the bra. Forbidden, naked flesh grew goosebumps upon exposure and the pair were stunned speechless.

Harmony's new body had special piercings. Slim golden rings with a single teardrop ruby that hung on a three small links adorned each pebbled bud. Her womanly peaks were also crimson in hue rather than pink.

The couple had discussed body modification many many times. The Scalebound's elfin ears had many hoops. In real life however, Harmony had never had the guts to go through with something like getting her buds pierced. And she definitely would never have gotten jewelry that was so flashy! Barbells were one thing, but rings with dangling rubies? Not ever.

"Huh, I thought I felt something under your shirt earlier." Lurk mentioned with a weak chortle.

Still unable to find words, Harmony reached up to fondle herself, gauging the consistency of her womanly bust. Unused to the additions, she accidentally tugged one a little when she lifted a ruby to examine it. Crying out, she would have fallen onto her backside if she had not already been seated.

"May I?" Lurk asked, gesturing at her chest.

"Yeah, yeah go ahead." She panted. "Just be gentle. They're uh... A little sensitive."

"I can tell. Wow these puppies are gorgeous." With great care, the Wyrmblood male cupped his wife's breasts. They definitely felt like the real deal. Maybe they had been dumped into a secretly cancelled adults only game. Her talons curled and abdominal muscles clenched as incandescent pleasure began to melt her core.

After a bit of fondling, Lurk moved up to the main attraction. With surgical precision, he slid the tip of a claw through the golden hoop that pierced her left breast and gave it just a little tug. The pebbled buds were already hard enough to pierce mythril, and watching the skin pull taut was enough to make the male acutely aware of the fact that his pants had become immeasurably tight in the crotch. Harmony rubbed her thighs together as it felt like someone had turned on a faucet between her legs.

"Okay, okay, whew. That's a lot." Pushing his eager claws away, the woman moved back on the bed. "Alright, moment of truth time." Harmony gasped, hooking her scaly thumbs into her panties. She pulled the underwear down to her ankles and kicked the garment off to the side. Harmony fell back on the bed, face framed by ivory horns and a halo of bright red hair. Panting while her spouse looked on with baited breath, the Scalebound spread her legs.

A smattering of scales led down her stomach and between her legs. The medley of intimate flesh and scales had a much larger concentration of metallic yellow. Lurk was utterly entranced by Harmony's luscious pussy. The lips of her sex were engorged and puffy. The plump labia seemed ripe for a good hard rut. Being draconic, her peach was hairless and smoother than a newborn Dire Silkworm. Lurk followed his wife up onto their bed, shedding his clothes the old fashioned way and casting them off as he did so.

In response, the woman reached down and used her fearsome claws to spread her flower. It was what she always did before they consummated their love for each other. And it felt right to do it then, exposing herself for the one man she had ever loved. Her inner labia was pure gold with striations of crimson. It was glistening with Harmony's arousal. Her honeypot dripped molten gold. Aureate juices flowed from her shimmering feminine core.

Following her, Lurk crept forward, laying his chest on her thick tail. Hooking his arms around her generous thighs, the draconic male looked up at his wife.

"Darling, may I eat the royal pussy?" He asked, unable to suppress his amusement.

Giggling at the unexpected question, Harmony wiggled her butt and responded.

"You may."

Well and truly unable to hold himself back by weight of sheer amorous delight and curiosity, Lurk used his new forked appendage. Velvet dipped in mango juice played along his long reptilian tongue. An explosion of flavor that almost made him weep in joy. The male buried his snout in his wife's puffy slit, inhaling her heady musk. Even with his human nose, he knew her scents. He knew how her sex smelled normally. He knew her scent after she had cum. Their mingled aroma. He even knew when she was ovulating, much to her embarrassment.

Below the ripe fruity taste and aroma, he knew her. Beneath the frankincense of her draconic sex, was the bouquet of his loving wife. He did not know how in a billion worlds such a coincidence could have occurred, and took it as yet further proof that they had crossed an indelible threshold together.

Knowing just where and how to lick, he got straight to work. Harmony was always glad that she had a husband that was willing to go down on her. She rarely let him though because even though the feeling was heavenly, the woman always felt bad at how much effort it was to make her cum. The obscene sounds that came from his oral ministrations made her cheeks light up, yet the ecstasy was beyond compare. When his long tongue circled her buried nub, teasing the woman's clit from its shy hood, she thought she was going to explode.

Not only was the act itself heightened at the thrill of their new forms, hers was especially receptive. Already near to overflowing, Harmony's chalice sang with delight. Acute new nerves told her brain that she was going to cum fast, hard, and all over her husband's muzzle. Though she tried to warn him, as Lurk's lapping, circling, acrobatic tongue pushed her over the edge, all breath was stolen from the dragoness as she climaxed. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

The one advantage of his new face, was that when his wife's thighs slammed on either side of him, his snout let him keep breathing. Although he was surprised at how quickly he was able to make her cum, it was with even greater joy. Her roiling hips and clenching legs let him know he was doing a good job, and the juices that gushed forth was his reward. Another thing that shocked in the best way was how literally sweet her pussy was. He had eaten her out on many occasions, and always enjoyed lapping up her nectar, however this was a special treat indeed.

Letting her ride out the high with more gentle tongue play, Lurk waited for Harmony to stop trying to pop his head from his shoulders, rubbing that familiar spot on her thighs as he did so. Her physical strength was prodigious now too.

"That good?" He tormented as she quivered and at last released him.

"Shabagagh. Shut up. Holy mother of dragons." Harmony wiped sweat from her brow as her chest heaved. As her breasts rose and fell, the glittering rubies on her piercings rolled back and forth with the motion.

Crawling up between her spread legs, Lurk's tail found that of his wife and quickly constricted around the fifth appendage. Planting his claws on either side of his lover, Lurk gazed down at her with wanton lust.

"If you... Ask to... 'Fuck the royal pussy'... I'm going to hurt you." She threatened.

"Yes, my darling dearest dripping wet dragoness."

"Hm," She said, mildly appeased. "I suppose it would be nice to give my big handsome man some dragoness pussy."

Sitting up to grasp his cock and better guide it to Harmony's entrance, Lurk could not help but run his tongue along his teeth in anticipation. Looking down, he watched the triangular head of his cock brush between the lips of his woman's sex. Based on what he felt and saw, she was going to enjoy this quite a bit too. Moaning openly, Harmony threw her arms around his neck and encouraged him to continue with a push of her hips.

"What am I to do? My wife has become lost in this lewd body that loves dragon cock."

Just as she was about to respond, Lurk put some real body weight behind a thrust, eliciting a throaty moan from his partner. Just from sinking himself a little ways into her, the female's stubborn depths seemed to cry out to the Dragon Incarnate to rut her senseless.

Even though his member was almost monstrously huge, Harmony's Scarlet Drake racials made her quite durable. The Drakes were famed for being females that could only be conquered by the strongest, most virile males. At least in the flavor text of the job class it said that. Although proportionately large, his manhood fit perfectly inside his wife. Her pussy was built to both provide the most sumptuous of cushions with its buxom petals, and be able to take a hard pounding.

Even with the entirety of her tunnel saturated after Lurk had made her cum, he still needed to pull back several times to work her open. Soon he bottomed out within her, his length and girth wrapped from root to tip in plush gold satin.

"Oh god, you're definitely just as big as you were. Does your cock have ridges now? Fuck that feels good. Don't stop. Just fuck me 'till you cum. I wanna feel it. Please?" She knew that begging got him off, and she knew she had hit right on the money. A snarl of determination rumbled from Lurk's chest as his crotch came flush with hers. The enhanced body heat of her cunny was almost too much just on its own.

Harmony felt the head of her husband's cock twitch and pulse against the smooth muscle of her cervix. Just as before, the sensation was familiar. Although both were larger in their avatar's, they had maintained the same proportions as the old world. Despite sexual anatomy obviously being off limits to YGGDRASIL, their bodies fit together just like they had when they were human. He was cozied up to that same spot he always did when they had sex. Her tunnel was stretched by his length. There was always that extra inch or two that nudged the fall wall of her insides, nestling the head right up to the entrance of her womb.

When he pulled back, Harmony's lower lips clinging to his textured length he lost what little control he had. Although their mating was in different bodies, he knew it was her. Just like her scent, he could recognize his wife just from the way she moved in response to him filling her cute scaly cunny. The way she reciprocated his thrusts when he hit a good spot inside her told him all he needed to know. They had been together for so many years, had made love in so many ways, that all it took was a touch to let her know to raise her legs.

Their intimacy was a consummately unspoken bond. It was there when they had made love on beaches. In dressing rooms. Under covers on a cold winter day. In the morning. Before bed. In every touch and whispered promise of eternity. How she moved and moaned and whispered his name was a fundamental truth of his universe.

Even as his weight bore down on her muscular tail, Lurks own squeezing it rhythmically with his thrusts, Harmony lifted her ankles for him to grab. With the tilt of her pelvis, the Wyrmblood male got a better angle and thrust more of himself in an out of her with every back and forth motion of his hips. The woman moaned openly, letting out little squeaks when his pronounced ridged caught her entrance and tugged at the delicate nerves.

If Lurk had wanted to, he could not have stopped if he had tried. She was almost virgin tight. He was only able to sustain his pace of vigorous mating for a few minutes. Just as Harmony had reached her high quickly, the Wyrmblood lost himself to the slick velvet vice nursing his length.

Her thick, plush petals were crushed into his groin as he mashed his hips into hers for all he was worth as his own orgasm erupted from him. A tidal wave of pleasure overtook the male. Driving himself down with thrusts that rocked her with their force, Lurk flooded her suckling depths with his seed. As a baptism of their union in their new forms, he gave her the mating press of a lifetime. Even though he could not kiss very well with his muzzle, that did not stop him from pressing it against her full lips. She moaned, tasting herself on his tongue.

A few quivering bucks made Harmony's core flutter, feeling the hot rush of cum spill into her sacred depths. Nestled in his wife, Lurk did not pull back until every drop of his essence was firmly fucked into her. Sometimes the need to claim her pulsed through his blood with each ardent beat of his heart. This was one of the many, many ways he displayed his affection. Tightly grasping the sheets underneath them, Lurk pushed until his wife's poor hole was stretched into a lewd O.

Panting after the exertion, they both stayed exactly as they were as Harmony's insides were painted white with a potent load of cum. Cooing in delight and contentment, the female's lower half told her that she was nice and full. Lurk released her ankles and sat back on her tail, ever so slowly dragging his softening manhood from her sex. She groaned as even not fully hard, the ridges of Lurk's very exotic cock pulled wonderfully on her delicates.

Bloated with seed, Harmony's unplugged pussy began leaking down the base of her tail right onto their sheets. Neither cared in the slightest that both of their nethers were an absolute mess and that the room now smelled of raw sex.

"Do you love me, my Harmony?" He slurred, having fallen loosely to the side to lay with his wife.

"Always, dearheart." The woman answered, her belly nice and full.

And just like in their original world, Harmony's sex was so sumptuously tight, that Lurk got comfortable on their bed and fell straight to sleep. Giggling knowingly, his wife curled against his side and shortly followed. Both drifted off, content. Even if everything else changed, their love did not. Even if their constituent atoms were blown across the cosmos, Lurk and Harmony would find each other because of one simple truth.

They knew one another. No matter what form they took.

***BSL***

"Hey, boss! There always been a giant door 'ere?"


	3. Strength Of The Legion

***BSL***

[Message]

_Lord Lurk, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem._

_Nox? I see that [Message] works with the Guardians. What kind of problem?_

_The kind that walks on two legs and carries torches. [Life Essence] Can be deceived by a clever mage, but [True Discernment] cannot be._

_What are their levels?_

_I believe I could kill one with a sarcastic remark._

_Are they hostile?_

_No, but they are trying to pry gems off the great gates of The Citadel._

_Thieves... Scavengers..._

_My thoughts exactly, Sire._

_Confirm your suspicions, Nox. Just be careful. Knowledge is power, and something we are woefully short of. I'll be there as soon as I can._

_Yes, my Lord._

[End Message]

***BSL***

"What door, you blithering idiot?"

"This giant one! Right 'ere!"

"There's never been a do-... Oh. That's a fancy lookin' door."

The gaggle of bandits, about three dozen in total, all crowded to take a peak at the platinum etched front door of The Citadel as it towered over them. The portal was wide enough to admit a dragon with its wings outstretched. Light from the group's torches flickered off gemstones and made the draconic mural dance with life. A few of the criminals were trying to fit the points of daggers into the brilliant crystals from the eyes of the sculpted entrance.

A voice dripping with scorn came from behind the throng.

"Did you get lost, gentlemen?"

The lot turned, with many drawing weapons. They were supposed to be the only ones up on the mountain, and none of them had heard the newcomer's approach. At the edge of the torchlight, a silhouette wavered in the dark. Grizzled, and exuding all the charm of rusty chain mail, the apparent leader called out to Nox.

"Oi! You can just clear off with yer fancy self. I dunno who yer with, but we got 'ere first. Whatever's on th' other side o' this door, is ours." Squinting in the flimsy illumination, the leader was able to discern the quality of the Shadowkin's garb, and also that he seemed unarmed.

"Really now? What makes you think that?" The Guardian cocked his head quizzically to one side.

"The Bandit King controls these mountains. Hang on, you look a little too pretty to be one o' us. You an adventurer or something? Tell ya what. You hand over everythin' you own, and we might let ya go. Or else."

"Or else what?" Hushed contempt rumbled forth as Nox's voice grew, seeming to surround the bandits.

"Or I'll gut ya and take that nice lookin' helmet ya got." The leader sneered, oblivious to the way that shapes were forming in the murk around the pool of light. He had killed his fair share of bounty hunters and starry eyed adventurers. With a swagger, the cutthroat marched straight up to within four strides of the Shadowkin.

"Well, c'mon then." Turning his palms out, showing his lack of weapons, the Guardian shrugged. "Show me."

The man got his sword one inch out of its scabbard before Nox decided the bandit was too slow.

With one hand, Nox pulled a piece of abyss into reality. Trailing ribbons of blackness, Echo of Damnation manifested in his hands. In YGGDRASIL, following the Valkyrie's Downfall expansion that introduced firearms, many subsequent additions to the games had increased the variety. All sleek Darksteel lines and ergonomic matte crystal polymer, Echo of Damnation was a tube-fed shotgun. The special ammunition it used was a more classic approach in that it was generated from the user's MP. It had the added benefit of being nearly silent until the abyssal buckshot made explosive contact with any target.

Nox did not merely shoot the bandit in the face. He decapitated the offending lowlife with a point-blank discharge of his Divine weapon. Neck stump smoking, the bandit swayed, then dropped like a sack of meat.

"Well? I'm waiting. Weren't you going to gut me? Steal my hat?" Giving his gun a twirl and setting it on his shoulder, the Shadowkin remarked on the sorry sight before him. "I don't think it would look very good on you now though."

The Guardian possessed the job Shotgun Surgeon, and felt no need to waste any more time on target practice. Using his left hand, Nox made a gun gesture with his thumb and pointer finger, aiming at the bandits, then depressed his thumb to mimic a hammer falling.

Corsairs occupying the crenelations above the door opened up with their repeater carbines. The advanced crossbows whirred and clicked as their mechanisms launched a hail of bolts into the backs of the bandits. Some had the presence of mind to bring their shields to bear on the death pouring on them from behind. Simple wood and iron stood no chance against the carbines. The Darksteel was designed to pierce defenses, then stick in a target to deliver their toxin.

Projectiles filled the air with angry hissing as the storm turned the hapless men into pincushions. Some fell with dozens of metal rods protruding at obscene angles. One wretch had the misfortune of having their feet, then knees were punctured, holding him upright. Like a pinned butterfly, the bandit did not cease being a target until he resembled a thicket of fletched shafts. The few that did not expire immediately from massive trauma quickly succumbed to the caustic bolts.

Only a minute after the massacre, Lurk stepped from his bedroom to the entrance of The Citadel in one smooth stride. In his haste, he had only donned his dusky pants, a simple shirt, and his armored greatcoat. His tie to their guild item allowed him free movement anywhere within the domain of Black Sky. The class, Sovereign of the Masquerade, filled in the rest.

The Mask of the Unbound clung to Lurk's scaly visage. Although there were no slits or holes in the smooth ivory faceplate, four magic eyes hovered just above the mask's surface like smoldering pinpricks of azure coal. More than the strange eyes were the way his horns seemed to bleed into another reality. Their color was akin to a negative photograph, with the high and low-lights swapped in brightness, at odds with his surroundings.

Dismissing his mask, Lurk surveyed the aftermath of the very one-sided fight. His physical sight had no trouble piercing the gloom as he crouched down to look more closely at one of the dead. The cadaver was... Unmistakably human in ways the old world had only ever dreamed of capturing. This had, until moments ago, been a living, sapient being. The monarch had seen real death only a handful of times, yet felt nearly nothing over being in some ways responsible for the blood spilled.

"Was there any trouble?" Lurk asked Nox as the Shadowkin joined his master. The Guardian shook his head and let Echo of Damnation evaporate back into the blackness.

"None. They had no mages, and [True Discernment] was accurate."

"We need information." Lurk pondered the problem, rubbing his chin with a claw. An idea slowly formed. Did this world operate by the same rules? There was only one way to find out. If Nox had been able to use [Message] to contact him, then perhaps...

[Message]

_Skitharix, can you hear me?_

_Truly I am blessed by your singular attention, Supreme One. What had codified this boon?_

_I need your Puppeteering skills, if you please._

_Without question, Sire. How may I serve?_

_Please come to the front of The Citadel. There are some dead things with secrets._

_Your will be done, High Lord._

[End Message]

The Guardians were limited by traveling the gate network threaded throughout the guildhall, so it took Skitharix a few minutes to arrive. Taking the time to walk around, Lurk marveled. The high-altitude air was thinner, but so very clean. From the peak, the first shy diffusion of sunrise was visible on the horizon. The stars were already asleep in the early morning hours. Standing undaunted before the breathtaking view, Lurk did not let doubt undermine his wonder.

Skitharix moved through the gates of The Citadel, which had been opened just far enough to allow his passage before closing again.

"Hm, mongrel things." The Flesh Keeper remarked, weaving his way around the bodies to ensure his robes did not touch the dead. Two Corsairs had come down from their perch and were examining the one man still held upright by the sheer quantity of Darksteel piercing him. Skitharix paused to regard the Plague Elves and their unintentional sculpture.

"Hm, fair work. Good brush strokes. Try for a better canvas next time."

"Thank you, Lord Skitharix." The two Corsairs bowed low under the praise. Their voices carried the hollow echo of the ornate respirators the Plague Elves all wore.

Having heard the doors open, Lurk was already waiting in front of the body he wished to interrogate. Wasting none of his Lord's time, Skitharix performed his own bow, then used his skills of Puppeteering. From his outstretched knives, gossamer silver threads hung down and attached to the cadaver. The wires pulled taut and the dead man rose, twitching and juddering, to stand before the ruler of Black Sky Legion.

"Who are you?" The Wyrmblood rumbled.

"Michas..." Bubbles of blood collected at the corner of the dead man's mouth as his lungs were worked manually by Skitharix to produce sound.

"What were you doing here?"

"Scouting... For the Bandit King. Keep watch... For caravans that might... Warn Kadusia."

***BSL***

By the time they were done interrogating the pupeteered corpse, the sun was starting to peak from the distant horizon. But to Lurk, it was worth it. They had gained immeasurable insight into the world The Citadel had been transported to. The major revelation they had gleaned, was that they now resided at the top of a completely different mountain range from their original home. A far cry from the fiery rivers of lava and active volcanoes where The Citadel had resided in the crags of Muspelheim.

They overlooked a narrow pass that was central to trade in the region. The mountain chain in particular was infested with bandits. And they were planning something big.

Kadusia was the closest large city. And the bandits were going to mount a massive assault while the city's army was away fighting some kind of coalition war. The body of the bandit was rather poorly educated. Just a simple man really, swept up in an unsavory lifestyle. Apparently this Bandit King was a cautious, ruthless, and fairly competent leader by the account of the interrogated dead. If any of the scouting teams sent out to make sure Kadusia was isolated and did not report back, the Bandit King would initiate his attack immediately. His success was dependent on a swift assault on an unprepared defender.

Right on time, Harmony teleported the more traditional way. A loose gray tunic hung from her shoulders and long cotton bloomers made her the image of a woman distinctly disgruntled at having her sleep interrupted. The tips of her scaly talons announced her agitation at being awoken under such uncouth conditions.

"Lurk! What the hell! Were these real people?" Her wrath was a potential thunderstorm in the making, crimson tail twitching in irritation. The pair of Corsairs vanished in trails of emerald fire and Nox disappeared into Lurk's shadow. Even Skitharix tried to make himself scarce, though the hulking Guardian had little luck.

"Yes, and they were thieves that tried, very unsuccessfully, to attack Nox." Knowing his wife's temperament very well, he defused her anger with a deadpan summary.

"Oh, well fuck 'em then. I mean... They look like a typical bandit mob, but they're so different from each other."

"I think we're in a Medieval European analogue. Or a fantasy equivalent anyway. These guys," Lurk gestured to the hapless men. "It turns out are scouts for a much larger force. There's a city nearby, called Kadusia. I took a peak. It's mostly civilians. Big walls though. The bandits are planning on sacking the place, taking all the food and gold they can carry, then razing everything they can before leaving."

"And?" Harmony asked.

"And what?" Until then, Lurk had been content to sit, and watch. His analysis was cold and distant. Harmony was passion and aggressive action. Although both of them were close to overall neutral karma, the Wyrmblood male hung a hundred below, while his Scarlet dragoness was a positive by a higher margin.

"And? What are we gonna do about it? I assume you already have a plan to wipe the bastards off the map." She crossed her arms under her bosom.

"Well, I might have considered some options." Lurk said with a fang filled grin.

***BSL***

True flight was everything Lurk and Harmony had ever dreamed of. In YGGDRASIL, flying was commonplace. Everyone who did not have a job or racial for wings could come across pendants that allowed free use of the [Fly] spell at reasonable cost. However the game had limitations on the feeling of the wind, of the dizzying scope of precipitous flight.

All her life, there had been a hole in Harmony's being she had never known of. When her wings caught the wind and her form had lifted as effortlessly as a leaf in a breeze, that gap was filled. She was free. To the truest meaning of such a simple word. The Scarlet dragoness was flying. Real, unhindered, and more terrifyingly splendid than she could have ever imagined. And, not least of all, she was sharing this with her love. Even if it all ended up not being real in the end, she would hold the breath of sky nestled in her heart of hearts for as long as she lived.

The two monarchs soared on membranous wings at high speeds even in their armor, easily keeping up with the six Greater Wyverns that accompanied them. Each of the mighty beasts was encrusted with smaller creatures. All six had been given saddles to transport their assignment of troops. Squads of Demi-Claws crowded along the spines of the living transports while ranks of Silver Knights were daisy-chained together with straps and harnesses off the sides of the enormous saddles. Long wing beats resounded like leathery drums even over the high winds. The dangling Knights glinted in the sun, the resplendent sky bright, crisp, and eye-wateringly beautiful.

With Legion, Wrath, and Ruin's help, Lurk had assembled a small attack force and set off. The plan was simple. Because the MP drain of using [Gate] on even a hundred troops was prohibitive, Wyverns with [Lightweight Cargo] was a thousand-fold more efficient. Painlords provided by Skitharix would be dropped in as a high-mobility distraction while the contingent of Silver Knights and Demi-Claws were deployed behind the besieging force and hit their flanks. Legion would direct the Knights. Wrath was in charge of the Sharpshooters. And Ruin would provide air support and reconnaissance.

With so many unknowns, Lurk and Harmony would observe from a distance. The whole operation was to pit the power of The Citadel against the threats of this new world. Both rulers were curious to see just how intelligent their NPCs were. Could they think for themselves? How would they handle battle? A smaller detachment meant more control. If things started going sideways, the Guardians had been given strict orders to withdraw.

To all of Lurk's limited testing, it seemed as though every power they had by simply being players, had transferred with them. This would be the real thing, however. And yet, neither he nor Harmony felt any trepidation. There was no fear, or worry over the prospect of real bloodshed. Though, Lurk was confident that even if there were other players, they would be unprepared to face a combined arms force in a traditional fantasy setting.

***BSL***

The seventh floor in Black Sky's domain was the smallest. Its only denizens were normally Nox and Crisis. Its only topography was a massive roman style amphitheater. The seventh was one of the floors where Lurk and Harmony both had left their mark in its creation. Roman inspiration meant titanic fluted columns and white marble everywhere. The entire site floated in a dimensional void of true, bottomless abyss. Back in the golden era of YGGDRASIL, the three rulers of Black Sky had used the floor to watch distant player wars or movies rented through the in-game cash shop.

Sets of remote viewing mirrors hovered in front of the new occupants of the sloped seating gallery. Excited conversation buzzed between the clusters of Demi-Claws, Silver Knights, and Corsairs who occupied the tiers.

At the moment, Nox was the center of attention, holding his helmet up high.

"Alright ghouls and gals, pony up. Place ya bets. Place ya bets here. Do I hear twenty on Legion getting the most kills?"

"Fifty on a Ruin kill steal!" Cried a Sharpshooter.

"Alright, I've got kill steals. Can I get top kill of the day? Who is gonna get the flashiest finisher?" Nox flourished his other hand with a shadow demon in his palm.

"Legion accidental team kill on one of his Silver Knights!" Shouted a Corsair through cupped hands.

"Remember everyone, friendly fire isn't very friendly. What else have we got? Come on up, don't be shy." Coins clinked and bets were made with Nox's helmet being a bottomless reservoir.

Nox passed by his brother and gave his steel helm a shake. Though at first Crisis held resolute, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. It only took a few prods for the mute brother to roll his eyes and plop a few coins begrudgingly into the helm.

"Thank you, brother, I'm sure your bet was well placed." With eyes full of gold, he gave his brother a wide grin.

Nox came to Phage, reclining on a silk chaise lounge that Skitharix had made a few moments ago for her to relax.

"Dread Lady, would you care to partake of our little game?" Giving a courtly bow, the Shadowkin held out his helm with a soft jingle of coin.

"So crass, Nox, but I suppose. My Corsairs do seem to love it." Phage mostly hid her amusement. She called over her shoulder. "Skitharix, darling, place a bet for me. Would you please?"

The towering Abomination leaned forth like a mechanical millipede about to consume a meal.

"Of course my ashen blossom. Hm. I'll place a bet on Legion making a huge mess all over Wrath's face."

Nodding in certainty, Skitharix flipped a few coins into the Shadowkin's helm and went back to alternatively clicking and pacing excitedly.

"That's uh... Oddly specific. And rather innuendo heavy. But very well."

***BSL***

With the advantage of altitude, the walled city on a small hill became clear many miles off. As well as the rising columns of smoke. Many wide patches of farmlands that formed the skirts of the little nation had been put to the torch.

Zooming ahead, Lurk assessed the assault unfolding. Rows of ladders had been propped up against the tall walls of the fortified metropolis. Fighting was thick on the walls. The defenders on the battlements were holding, but a few pockets were threatening to open into full footholds that could tip the balance. Heaving crowds gathered around the base of each ladder, shields held overhead to protect from the arrows still falling from the round towers that anchored the sections of wall under attack.

Some poor fools had ridden out on horseback to try and face the ad-hoc army and been run down by the bandit cavalry in turn. The remnants of the sortie were still being chased off as Black Sky's force approached.

Rows of wooden barricades sheltered cutthroats ready to rush in once the walls were taken and protected the attacking archers while they peppered the defenses with counter-fire. Wreckage of a battering ram still smoldered from a failed attempt on the gatehouse. This Bandit King was clearly someone with soldiering experience. This person had gathered several thousand men, all bent on slaking their fill of plunder from stolen spoils.

Hovering in place, Lurk pulled on his Mask of the Psion. Ethereal tendrils sprouted from his skull, waving in an invisible wind. Using his psionics, he communicated with the four Painlord engines that Skitharix had provided, and ordered them to jump. As Lurk's consciousness brushed against the machine intelligence inherit to his creations, he felt like he knew them intimately. They were as he had made them. Calculating, logical, yet with a spark of awe and deference to him, their god, that gave him uncomfortable responsibility.

Each Masterwork Construct crashed to the earth like meteors and set off to their assigned locations for the coming battle. Fifteen feet of bipedal, mechanical death machine raced as fast as a galloping horse. Their limbs were inhumanly thin and graceful. Smooth, featureless heads covered in glyphs swept back from broad armored shoulders. Fluted spires sprouted in symmetrical pairs down their backs. Hexagonal indents in the steeples held gems enchanted with various auras.

With the toughness and tonnage of a main battle tank, the Painlord's normal role was providing heavy support to the Flayers of the fourth floor. Lurk had designed the chassis that each was based on, then given them all individual accents. Two carried poleaxes meant to punish defensive builds, while the other two had swords that could cleave a man and his horse in twain with a flick. All four were equipped with wrist-mounted staves that had [Extend Magic: Napalm], to be used in effect as flamethrowers. And many more tricks besides that.

They were hard to miss as they moved in pairs and passed the back line of the bandit force to put pressure on the sides. Though unsure at first, the cutthroat army soon recognized the behemoths as threats when a few men got trampled along the way. Arrows, bolts, and even a few low tier spells pattered off the Painlord's projectile repelling enchantments like rain.

Watching closely, Lurk wanted to gain a measure of the force they faced as a coterie of outlaws charged one of the towering Constructs.

The Painlord reached out a hand with its palm open and mechanical fingers extended. With a sharp pulling gesture, several dozen men fell as their life essence was ripped from their chests. The red mist coalesced into numerous spheres which came to the Construct and orbited around its spires. With a reverse motion, the Painlord cast [Blood Lightning] from its splayed hand. A single orb among the dozens evaporated as fuel for the spell.

With a wicked crack, a forked crimson lance seared into the group. The discharge struck one very unlucky bandit and arced to several others. In an instant, the human target's vitae was flash-boiled in their veins. The deaths were messy, to say the least. The survivors recoiled as their companions were gruesomely painted onto the dirt. It only took a few failed attacks to convince the rest to abandon the effort.

The shocking disparity in power made Lurk certain he had made a mistake in assessing the threat the army posed as anything other than laughable.

With the flanks secured, it was time to advance.

[Message]

_Ruin._

_Yes, High Lord Lurk!_

_Do a sweep of their defensive line there. See if we can take some of the pressure off the city._

_Yes, Lord! With pleasure!_

[End Message]

[Message]

_Wrath._

_Yes, my Lord?_

_When your Demi-Claws land, have them target the bandits on the ladders. We want to save this city._

_Not one more will set foot on those walls._

_Very good._

[End Message]

[Message]

_Legion._

_Good to hear from you, High Lord Lurk!_

_Thank you, Legion. The defenders look hard pressed._

_Aye Lord, their hold is tenuous at best. If too many more get on the walls, it will be over for them._

_Ruin will sweep their defensive line of barricades with a breath attack from her Wyvern. Land your troops and attack as we planned. I've ordered Wrath to have her Sharpshooters target the enemy scaling the ladders first._

_An excellent idea, Lord._

_And Legion,_

_Yes, Sir?_

_Show them the might of Black Sky._

_With pleasure, Sire!_

[End Message]

"What're you thinking?" Harmony asked as she pulled up alongside her husband. She tried to search his face, but his features were hard to discern under the ectoplasm of the Mask of the Psion.

"I think it's going pretty wel-"

Then Ruin's Wyvern mount hit the line, marking Black Sky Legion's commitment to the conflict with apocalyptic fanfare. One breath attack was all it took for the sweeping run to carve Ruin's name into the besieger's line. Quick as a flash, the hastily erected wooded palisades were obliterated by a wave of fire. Backwash of flame spread from the impact point. Those not incinerated on contact, were thrown from their feet as the over pressure flung those too close to the blast like toy soldiers.

"Wow, holy shit." Lurk dismissed his Mask so he could look on without anything getting in the way.

A resounding clatter of gear drew both the monarch's attention as their force assembled. The Greater Wyverns carrying troops had landed and were waiting on the ground. Silver Knights unclipped and fell, running to assemble in their lines. Demi-Claws rappelled down and gathered in squads behind the spearmen.

"Form ranks! To your positions! C'mon you bucket heads you know the drill. This day we have the honor of fighting for our Supreme Ones." Bright plume standing proud in the open air, Legion was the fulcrum upon which the force turned. Wrath took the rear, corralling her Sharpshooters forward and spreading word of their first target.

Emblazoned across the front of every tower shield, waving from every banner, was the symbol of Black Sky. The winged helms of the Silver Knights stood proudly, catching the cold light along with the points of their long spears. All told, there were three-hundred Knights, and half that number in Sharpshooters. In any normal engagement, such a numerical disadvantage would mean encirclement and destruction. But this was not a normal battle.

Legion, the Tactician, the Crusader, the Warsage, set the tempo of the march. The flat of his axe rang a single indefatigable note in time with his steps. As his Knights took up their place, they added their own hammering knell to the choir of steel. Though the Demi-Claws had no plates to drum on, they took up the beat with a cadence of their firing drills. Heavy footfalls in lockstep became the finishing touch as the force set off.

His Lady and High Lord were watching, and he was not going to disappoint.

Both of whom were watching with baited breath as the polished array of their precious NPCs made ready to wage the war their creators had chosen.

When they were within their maximum range, the Demi-Claws opened up with their Type Ninety-Nines. The long, bolt-action weapons were slow, heavy, accurate, and powerful. Lurk had designed the pop monsters of the first and second floors with the weapon in mind. Because although it was a relatively low tier firearm compared to the more elaborate MP or patterned guns, fired en masse it delivered exceptional performance. Black Sky's line troops were of middling height, so the Demi-Claws were just the right stature to shoot unimpeded over the spearmen that defended them.

Bandits attempting to scale up the walls in their desperate ladder assault began dropping faster than they could line up. Heads and helms were split, while torsos had fist-sized holes blown through them. Very unlucky souls had limbs shorn off, to fall screaming into their comrades below. The order to abandon the ladder assault filtered through the mob of cutthroats and the outlaws reformed a sloppy line to meet the advancing force. The ranks of Silver Knights marched unscathed through the lingering Wyvern flames. Withering volleys from the Sharpshooters shifted from the ladders to the main swarm, carving swathes through the mob.

As the vagabonds reformed into a ragged row, the Silver Knights paused in their advance. The bandits brayed, hooting and hollering like beasts. Then, not one, but two Wyverns did another attack run, carving the opposing force into three pieces with their breath. Before the cutthroats could get into the open gap, the line of Silver Knights rammed into the slots between trenches of flame. Like serrated teeth, the ranks of spearmen formed into wedges. At the center, just behind the main formation, Legion kept vigilant. The glow of his Warsage buffs were toned low. Even without them, a single one of his Knights could have stood his ground against dozens of such a rabble. With the passives as they were, each soldier could have culled hundreds from the braying herd on their own.

As the jaws of Black Sky tightened around the enemy's throat, more deserters peeled off, crumbling the already shaky flanks. Every bandit that tried to escape felt the wrath of the vigilant Painlords. Those who stood and fought were cut down with ruthless efficiency. Whenever a group on the three fronts tried to coordinate, any hard pocket was blown away by concentrated salvos of the Sharpshooters. As inexorable as the tide, the bandit force was mulched before the thrusting spears and ever cycling bolts of the Knights and Demi-Claws.

There was one small hope the dilapidated brigand army had left, and that was their cavalry swiftly closing in on the rear of Black Sky's phalanx.

Unfortunately, Wrath saw them first, galloping wildly towards her.

The Deathclaw brought her rifle up. She seated it firmly into her shoulder. She drew a bead, slit-pupil eye lining with her holographic sight. Her right foot drew back, talons carving a furrow through the dirt. She bent at the knee, steadying her lungs and pulse. Her target was only hundred meters distant.

Though her Divine Class rifle, Deusvore, was a custom piece, it carried the stamp of the Apollyon pattern firearms. Her weapon was much shorter than the rifles the Demi-Claws carried. Deusvore had solid metal construction and a straight detachable magazine. It might have been mistaken for a modern, if esoteric assault rifle. However, the mark of the Apollyons were unique sights and the floating rings of ever-shifting blue runes that enveloped and extended from the short barrel.

"[Reaper's Buzzsaw]." Wrath cast the eighth tier spell. The bands of magic symbols grew from her gun and spun rapidly, cycling and identifying targets. In a blink, the whirling blue runes locked into their compliment to the cast.

She pulled the trigger.

Her aspect was overwhelming firepower. Wrath was the tip of a million spears. No enemy had ever breached the gates of The Citadel and not known her name. The charging cavalry were a field of wheat at harvest time. And she was the angel of death. In the vein of the Reaper himself invoked, the cavalry met the fusillade as if they had run into straight into the walls of the city itself.

A barrage of projectiles spat from Deusvore at a daunting rate. Her shots layered on top of each other so quickly that the muzzle flashes blurred together into a gnashing demon trying to claw its way into reality. A single cast was all it took. Wrath scythed her bloody harvest through horse and man alike. One sweep, from left to right and back again, cut down the formation to a man.

Several were hit by so many bullets, they fell into pieces. Pulped and perforated bodies littered the field where the cavalry once stood. The spell was a flexible one, meant to either pour a large amount projectiles into many targets, or a concentrated burst at a single threat.

The tip of Deusvore glowed cherry red, steaming in the cool air.

Among the most dedicated circle of gunner build, there was a piece of equipment agreed upon as indispensable. Ring of the Autoloader. Though rare, it was not often sought after because of its niche application. For the few fully automatic solid ammunition weapons, it was a massive boost to damage. The ludicrous level of customization for NPCs meant Wrath and Ruin both had such rings.

In a transcendent moment, the fighting stood at a standstill as the bandits and defenders of the wall looked on in awe and horror at the display. Only the cries of the dying broached the refrain. Then the Silver Knights crashed their spears and shields together. The note of challenge shattered the pause and the last of the morale of the attackers.

On another part of the battlefield, the Bandit King had narrowly avoided being set on fire in Ruin's first attack run and had been desperately attempting to coordinate an effective counter to the force crushing their flanks and surrounding them. The walls of the city they had hoped to sack were now keeping them pinned. He could not believe the strength of these attackers. All his plans. Years of scheming and waiting and amassing strength to pull off the biggest score, to really cement himself as a real threat was being crushed. All around him his men were dying to the ugly magic users with the long sticks that coughed fire.

He saw the decimation of his cavalry and balked with everyone else. However, he saw an opportunity. The horrible creature that had killed his men must have been some kind of caster, and after such a spell, had to be recovering. That was his chance. If none of the other curs had the guts to do what needed to be done, this was his chance to break out, maybe grab a horse and run. But he needed to take out that magic caster.

With sword, shield, and Martial Arts, the Bandit King used all of his prodigious strength to make a leap, easily clearing the shield wall of the Silver Knights, with a path clear to Wrath. This was not where he would end. He would rebuild, he thought with a mad grin.

The Bandit Lord was fast, but compared to Legion, he may as well have been standing still.

The Living Armor used his simplest, most basic ability. One that was intrinsic to nearly every warrior class.

Shield Bash.

With a single backhanded swing of the Living Armor's large circular shield, he struck the human attempting to harm his fellow Guardian. The Bandit King was not merely obliterated, he was liquefied by the force of impact. The detritus of the man's ignoble end had_ very_ unfortunate direction and velocity.

Although Wrath was of the chameleon breed of the Deathclaw race, she was not willingly red.

"Eeee!" Wrath shrieked as the realization sank in as to exactly what had been splashed all over her. "Augh! Legion! Why! Oh gods... Oh it's in my mouth! Eyugh. Ugh. Ugh. Oh. It's everywhere! Oh that's so nasty!" She helplessly scraped globs of it off herself.

Legion stepped up, grabbing his waist sash as he did so to try and get some of the gore off the poor girl.

"Oh no, little one, I'm sorry! Here let me help... Oh dear. Oh dear he was a juicy one."

"Aw man! I had him. You stole my kill!" Wrath thumped a fist into Legion's chest.

Ruin, even up on her perch, had seen her sister get absolutely soaked and laughed so hard she very nearly fell off her Wyvern.

***BSL***

"Oh! What do I win?"

Skitharix clacked his finger knives together, quite pleased with himself while everyone else stared in disbelief.


	4. Neighborly

Captain of the guard, Warren Reese, had seen a lot of things in his many years of service. For nearly ten years he had held the post, and took pride in the work he and his men did in defending the kingdom of Kadusia. Sure, it was not as glamorous as the standing army, but there was honor in defending his city. He was the one who made sure their king and soldiers had a home they could return to.

In his long tenure, Captain Reese thought he had witnessed all the insanity the world could offer. From crazed adventurers, to crazier magic user's twisted experiments. And of course, the famous Kadusian exploding cattle disease. So, when an army of brigands led by the self-proclaimed Bandit King had come knocking, Warren Reese had not panicked. He tightened his sword belt, roused his men, and over his dead body would not let a single wretched knave into his protectorate.

They had set fire to the battering ram under a torrent of spells and flaming arrows. Then the enemy had brought up ladders. All that was left was the grit of the defenders to stem the tide. Warren was helping push one of the assault ladders off their walls, shoulder to shoulder with halberdiers to shove off the combined weight of the bandits scaling, when one of his men grabbed his arm and pointed at four colossi entering the fray.

Their size alone gave the Captain cause for worry. What were these things? Surely the cutthroats did not have magic casters talented enough to make such golems?

As Reese picked one to watch, the mechanical man-shaped thing waved its hand and men fell dead by the score. To the Captain's eyes, the brigand's very souls were ripped from their chests only to be redirected into red lightning that sprung from the fingers of the golems. Spells of macabre ferocity ripped men into bloody pieces. Warren recalled legends of adventurers of old that had power to sway the outcome of battles with the breadth of their skills. Not a single man even got within reach of the monstrous close combat weapons wielded by the automata. Whoever controlled the giants were clearly no friend of the Bandit King.

When the dragon had come along and torched the bandit's back line, his men had cheered. Reese did not. He had survived as long as he had by hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. Though he had gawped when, with apparent suicidal inclinations, their allies of circumstance marched through the still burning fire.

Though he was not able to discern exactly what was going on, he heard the cries of the bandits on the wall beneath him. Reptilian mages used long wood and iron staves they aimed at their shoulders like limbless crossbows. The exotic implements boomed with explosive spells. Reese saw smoke and heard the impacts. The Captain, for all his years, did not recall any spell that produced such strange visual effects and audible whistling cracks.

With the bandit assault forced to abandon the ladders under threat of the reptilian mages, his men quelled the last pockets of resistance on the walls. The Captain studied the unfolding battle as intently as he could.

Even from a distance, the armor the knights all wore was of ludicrous make and quality. It must have been ruinously expensive to have so many troops with such equipment. With long spear, they mulched through the ranks of the ragged mob like chaff. The impressiveness would have been diminished if the knights were not outnumbered a dozen times over. They fought on, heedless of when they should have succumbed to a normal man's vigor. Their tall shields were an unbroken wall bristling with deadly thorns.

Screaming curses, the Captain and his men all ducked when a pair of dragons raced towards them, breathing streams of flame. They veered so close to the ground, their talons nearly scraped the ramparts. Near enough to see that they were wyverns, not dragons as he knew them. Even at blistering speed, their proximity really let their size hit home. The things were massive! Their wingspan alone blotted out the sun. After the passage of the flyers, Warren moved to watch through the ramparts once more.

He saw that the besieging force had been separated into three pieces, and were being cut down with relentless ferocity. Yet, Kadusia's erstwhile allies were soon going to be in trouble as the cavalry that had routed Warren's best men approached on their flank. Several city guard on the wall tried to call out warnings or were waving their arms and pointing.

An absurdly tall and colorful reptilian magic caster was up to something, however. Reese knew a high tier spell when he saw one, the lizard-folk's strange staff lit with an arcane glow that was visible even from so far away. A deluge of streaking meteors emitted from the weapon. They seemed small, but packed enough power to slice through man and horse alike. Where the caster stood, the entire cavalry division that had driven off even experienced defenders, fell.

If Reese had not been on the wall that day, and witnessed that single caster slay so many men with such ease, he never have believed such a thing possible. Even though they were just bandits, Warren felt some sympathy. To be dispatched in such callous disregard for life stunned the man. These people who had come to their aid clearly understood war in a very different way than he did.

The Captain of the guard was lucky to be on a section of the fortification that afforded him a perfect viewing of the Bandit King's demise. Reese only knew of one person with enough Martial Arts to perform the stunt of vaulting over the knight's spear line. The cutthroat was heading for the mage that had slain so many. It was smart. Such a powerful spell doubtless had quite the cost and a long rest period.

A colossus in gleaming armor with an axe no human should have been able to lift, let alone swing, smeared the Bandit King into red paste with a single blow. Not with the axe even. His shield.

Just as Captain Reese thought he had well and truly seen everything that day, a pair of godlings alighted on the ramparts before him.

Not just one. Two.

Both wildly different in species. A male and female.

The Captain regarded the woman first. Despite the power she exuded, it was not with malice. Regal crimson wings, strong enough to casually bore the woman aloft with all the steel she wore. Even on her perch, it was clear the female was probably taller than most of the men on the battlement who gaped at the sight of her. She moved with such easy grace that Reese was certain she could have probably broken a normal human in half with one hand.

She was both beautiful and deadly. Plated armor that looked to be worth a small kingdom covered the draconic woman from talon to neck. A helm designed to fit over her many horns was held under her arm. Though her stance was casual, Reese did not miss the palm she rested on the top of the axe at her hip. Gold-flecked scales dotted her cheeks like freckles, and hair as red as the sun on a bloody day cascaded down her shoulders. Yet, she was smiling. A warm, genuine display of happiness.

Reese might have guessed the other one to be lizard-folk with his burgundy scales and fang-filled snout, but Warren had never seen one with wings. Dragons were the single most powerful entities that existed in the world, and this man was very draconic indeed. As a child, Warren had once had a teacher that had a piece of a dragon's horn. The teacher had told the class that the more ridges you could count, the older the specimen. Looking at the double pair of horns, the man could not see any. Staring more closely he saw ridges so fine and innumerable the Captain had mistaken them for a pattern in the light.

Cylinders of brass and other stranger metals adorned the figure's cuirass. A side of the scaly male's long black coat hung open, with many other unidentifiable tools, more pointed brass tubes, and other curiosities were in easy reach. Oddly shaped wands hung on the figure's belts. Based on the lighter armor and magic items, Reese guessed the male to be a caster. And if his power was comparable to the earlier display, it set the Captain's teeth on edge.

It was not the inhuman appearance, nor the staggering stature of the dragon-man, it was the unknown he represented. The warrior woman and her axe was an honest figure. One that warren comprehended. Magic always made him wary. Especially the kind he did not understand.

Though the dragon-man did not scowl exactly. His gaze swept the fortifications, slit-pupils taking measure of its defenders. The city guard were a simple lot. Steel helmets, dyed gambeson, wielding a mixture of halberds, crossbows, and swords.

"May I speak to who's in charge?" A subtle pressure of command exuded from the winged man.

Though he was hesitant, Warren answered.

"Aye, sir. That'd be me." The Captain glanced between the pair. "And uh, who am I addressing?"

"I am called Lurk." The male raised his arm towards his companion. "And this is my wife, Harmony. We are the leaders of Black Sky Legion. Our troops shall make sure your people are safe. We'd like to talk to your city's ruler."

All doubt on the pair's claim to leadership evaporated from the man when the largest wyvern he had ever seen latched onto the walls. Stone groaned under the weight and heavy thumps reverberated under the leathery membranes of its pinions. Every man still standing had to brace themselves lest they be thrown back from the buffeting wind from the wingbeats of the monumental creature. One forelimb was mantled out, hooked onto the top of the nearby corner keep. Soldiers manning the ramparts moved with haste to get clear of the claws of the gargantuan death-dealer. Tall as a siege tower, the wyvern loomed overhead.

It was clear as fiery breath that this creature was regarding Reese as a hound would someone that it did not trust around its master. Made even more abundant by the rider who stood high in the saddle. The wyvern's pilot looked oddly similar to the magic caster that had cut down the cavalry and carried a stave that was even deadlier looking up close. The creature had a green glow to it that roiled in warning. Two sets of eyes bored into Warren Reese, and he was not about to argue with something that had teeth taller than him.

***BSL***

Word traveled fast through the city, of the attack and their saviors. Where before, the Kadusians had been running from the main gate of their city, now they moved towards it. Crowds lined the cobblestone street to catch a glimpse of the name on everyone's lips.

Black Sky Legion.

Not wanting to be rude, Lurk had only taken a small honor guard into the city. The rest of their troops were keeping watch outside the walls. He understood that it would not be good for first impressions to invite themselves and their army inside.

At the head of the procession was Legion, who was simply having a grand time of it. He had insisted that if he was to act as grand marshal, then he needed a really big flag. From her inventory, Harmony had found a massive one emblazoned with their crest. Their white swords and sun on a black background with glittering gold trim. She always had several on person. Legion had then taken the banner with reverence normally reserved for holy relics. So, with immutable joy, the Warpriest led their entrance into Kadusia proper.

To make sure they presented themselves as allies, Lurk had instructed the Silver Knights and Sharpshooters to march with their weapons leaning against their shoulders. A theoretically universal display that the Wyrmblood believed would convey their non-hostile intent. The two monarchs walked between the score of Living Armor in the front, with the Demi-Claws behind. Of course, bringing in one of the Painlords may have been a bit much, striding sedately right behind Legion. Having proven themselves more than capable, Lurk was more comfortable in unknown territory with one of the constructs close at hand.

Though Captain Reese did not want one of the giant automata into his city, he doubted any of his men could have stopped it.

The throngs of people were mostly human. Although Lurk spied a good smattering of other races as well. Here and there were a few elvish looking folk of mostly woodland breeds and even some examples of beastkin. Over the heads of the knights and between the legs of the Painlord, he could see the top of Legion's bright crest, emphatically waving their flag. Kadusians all around cheered and clapped as the group followed the mounted city guard to the kingdom's seat of power.

"C'mon, give the crowd a wave. They're just eating it up." Harmony nudged her husband. The Scarlet dragoness had put away her helmet and was gazing in wonder at their surroundings. Old stone houses and shops lined the main thoroughfare and the kingdom's colorful denizens all looked on in wonder. The mood was infectious, and Harmony's grin went from ear to ear.

"Do you think Legion still has his passives on?" Lurk mused.

"He's having fun." Harmony laughed.

Lurk chuckled in agreement. At his wife's coaxing, he raised a claw and could not hold back his own smile when fresh cheers arose. "I'm glad I didn't bring Entropy. I think our Knights and Sharpshooters did very well."

"All those guys were so low level. We probably could have sent one of the Caliber Court, or just Legion."

"True, but it would have taken them a while."

"Are you sure? Just one spell from Wrath took out all their horses."

"Also true. We got so used to grinding Arch-Dragon Peak that I don't remember the last time I had to spam crowd control spells."

At the mention of their old lives in YGGDRASIL, another comparison brewed in Harmony's head. "Are these real humans? All of them?" She wondered aloud. There were so many. And they were all so different, so natural. No game developer in the world had enough time or a perfect enough facial rendering engine to articulate so many unique faces.

"I think it's safe to say they are."

"We can be anything we want. Have you thought about that?"

"We could, couldn't we? This is literally a new world. A different world. We are our avatars. I can feel my spells. My MP. We could actually be a king and queen." His voice was distant. Wistful, almost.

"Do you think we can?" Harmony challenged. If there was any man in her opinion that could do it, it was her husband.

"I think it'd be fun to try. Who's really ever ready to lead?"

"Lurk, sweetheart, you're being overly analytical. This is a new world. One in which we can be anyone we want. There's no harm in calling ourselves king and queen."

Taking his wife's claw in his own, Lurk gave her digits a gentle squeeze.

"As long as you're my Queen, I think I can manage."

Harmony rubbed her husband's knuckles with armored claws.

"You've always been my King, sweetheart. Now you're King Lurk to everybody else too."

***BSL***

A single lapse in focus can lead to tragedy.

Buried in the crowd was a mother and her young daughter. Little Thea wanted a closer look and tugged on her mother's skirt, wanting to be lifted up. She had flowers to wave in the air. Though Thea did not know what the occasion was, she knew that something good had happened, and there was a parade. Her mother was too occupied by the marching spectacle to notice. Finally getting tired of not being able to see anything, the girl wove between the legs of the adults to squeeze to the front of the crowd with her red chrysanthemums held tightly.

She emerged just in time to see Legion walk by waving his flag. So overwhelmed by the sight of him, as soon as the Guardian passed, the child ran out into the road.

Right into the path of the striding Painlord.

To the ensorcelled engine of destruction, the child would have impeded its steps no more than a drop of water would have interfered with a tsunami. Thea turned and stared like a doe would an oncoming diesel.

Yet, it stopped.

With what could only be described as curiosity, the Painlord scooped up the creature that registered as level zero to its detecting spells. The Greater Construct rotated the girl left and right before bringing her close to its ivory faceplate. Many Kadusians on either side of the street looked around, wondering why everything had come to a halt and fingers began pointing up in horror.

Being lifted high into the air, Thea had the fearlessness only children had and laughed in joy at being able to see so much. Her bare feet and gray tunic hung in the autumnal air. She marveled at the intricacy of the Painlord's smooth design and runic symbols painted on it. Close enough to reach out and touch the Construct, Thea followed through with her original intention. Straining her arm as far as it could reach, the child deposited her flowers in the hollow of the giant's throat.

With its machine intelligence, the Painlord recognized the offering of a red object formed into fragile patterns and reciprocated the gesture.

A crimson blood offering floated into its other fist. The Greater Construct crushed the orb into a perfect sphere of crystalline life-essence. Pinched between two skeletal metal fingers, the Painlord held the lustrous sphere out for the child. Thea eagerly took the unbelievably pretty jewel, thinking it the most wonderful thing in the world.

Both Lurk and Harmony had watched the exchange with held breath. Trying to hide his sigh of relief, Lurk's great stature allowed him to discern the mother of the child among the crowd and held out a claw towards the poor woman. Fortunately the people parted so that the maiden could come forward. Hands clasped so tightly together her the bones of her knuckles looked ready to burst out of her skin, the hapless woman approached. She seemed like a minor noble, or perhaps the spouse of a wealthy merchant. Immediately, the human fell to her knees in supplication heedless of the dirt of the street getting on her dress.

"Please, please m'lord. Please, my Thea's but a child. She knew no better. Please-"

Holding up a claw to stop the woman from thinking he was holding her child hostage for daring to simply be excitable, the Wyrmblood turned. Speaking low words of reassurance, Harmony got the woman back to her feet. Using Mask of the Psion, Lurk gave a quick order to the Painlord, then banished the Mask once more.

Completely at odds with its appearance, the Painlord looked their way and carefully gave the little girl back to her mother. The woman was on the verge of tears as she hugged Thea tightly against her bosom. Harmony smiled at the girl with her pretty bauble, choosing not to remark on the actual morbidity of the gift.

"It looks like someone got a present."

"Thank you, merciful lady. Thank you." With Thea still awestruck at the dragon-lady, her mother quickly melted back into the throng of people. Those close enough to see, regarded the crimson jewel with wonder.

With the situation sorted, complete with happy ending, the crowd resumed cheering.

"Lurk, you did tell the Painlord not to crush small children right." Harmony asked her husband accusingly as they resumed walking.

"Well, yeah. Of course I did."

He had not.

***BSL***

Warren had ridden ahead of the procession and had hastily informed his ruler of the situation. And of the company that was heading their way. The Queen was silent as she was told of this mysterious force. So when the procession arrived at the doors of her palace, she was at least braced for the worst.

The Queen was a frail thing, thin of wrist and waist. She had a voice just above a whisper, and the heart of a lion. A thick mantle of white Direwolf fur and wool hung from her shoulders. In the fading season, chill set in for her easily. Beneath, a flowing blue and white dress hid her unhealthily lean frame. The winter months always did a number on her arthritis, after all. Reese stood by her side with his hand near the pommel of his sword as their saviors approached.

Ismeena looked on the two dragon-kin and agreed with the assessment her Captain of the guard had given. Staring at Harmony, Queen Belgrave concluded that Reese had woefully under sold the beauty of the fiery red woman. The Scarlet Drake exuded a passionate calm and had disarmingly honest features. The Kadusian ruler's attention was mostly drawn to Lurk because of the less flashy state of his garb. Much as Reese had, she quickly concluded that the King of Black Sky Legion was a caster. A ruler who was also a battle mage? Ismeena had never heard of such a thing. Then again, neither had she ever heard of Black Sky before that day.

"I am Queen Ismeena Belgrave, Steward of the Kingdom of Kadusia in my husband's stead. On behalf of my people, I thank you for the great service you've done us this day. I do not know how fate arranged for your intervention, but I am eternally grateful. By account of Captain Reese, the battle was not in our favor by the time you arrived. May I ask your names?" Ismeena inclined her head in thanks, and never let her eyes drift from the pair.

High Lord Lurk waved a claw to indicate his troops should stand down. The Silver Knights and Sharpshooters all let the butts of their spears and guns clack to the flagstones of the Kadusian palace courtyard. Legion turned so that the flag of their guild framed his Lord and Lady as they ascended the steps towards the waiting Queen.

"My name is Lurk, and this is my wife, Harmony. It's a pleasure to meet you, Queen Ismeena Belgrave." Lurk placed a claw above his heart and reciprocated Ismeena's greeting. "We are the rulers of Black Sky Legion. A scouting party from the Bandit King tried to assault one of our men at our doorstep no less. A... Survivor informed us of their plans to sack your city. We saw your plight from afar, and that civilians would be the ones to suffer. Believe me when I say that there's no one we detest more than thieves. We are strangers to this land, and have many questions, if you would indulge us."

"A trifle, King Lurk. Please, let us discuss things in my home. It is far too cold out here." Ismeena pulled her mantle tighter and gestured for Reese to follow.

Turning, the Belgrave matriarch ushered them into the palace.

They were led to an ornate sitting room specifically designed to entertain foreign dignitaries or visiting diplomats. A pair of ladies-in-waiting flanked the double-doors they came in through. Taking her seat across a low oaken table, Ismeena held herself with all the regal bearing she could muster, hands in her lap, turned slightly to one side. Warren took his place behind her, folding his arms across his chest.

Harmony and Lurk looked at the small lounge sofa. Perhaps without armor on they would have both fit on the single couch. Rather than risk an awkward shuffle, Lurk simply grabbed a chair large enough for his bulk and set it right beside much to the horror of several waiting attendants. Though neither of them were in the least bit sore after the extended flight or small parade, it was still nice to sit down.

The Kadusian royal was reminded of the strangeness of her guests. Especially compared to herself, Harmony was an absolute giant of a woman, yet unquestionably beautiful. Lurk was taller still, and looked as though a dragon had grown tired of its old form and desired to walk around the world of men at their level. The Queen was well read, yet had never come across mention of such races that fit what she saw. It would be impolite to ask, and Ismeena had to keep her aspect of hospitality.

"Would either of you like anything? We have many fine spirits. And I think one of our chefs just finished a batch of honey cakes." Ismeena offered.

"Some tea would be wonderful." Knowing it would be rude to their host to refuse all offerings, Lurk asked for what he always did in such situations.

"Honey cakes?" Harmony inquired, sometimes too honest for her own good.

Queen Belgrave nodded to the two attendants who bowed and left to retrieve refreshments and confections.

"You must forgive my own curiosity. Where did you hail from? I've never heard of Black Sky Legion before. Surely such mighty warriors must be famous." The Queen asked.

Lurk and Harmony glanced at one another, silently agreeing that sincerity would probably be the best policy until they were more certain of their situation.

"Honestly, we're from another world. It was similar to this one in many ways, but the actual people were... Few." Harmony said somberly.

Warren visibly started, and Ismeena's eyes grew wide.

"That's... Another world? Gods... You're serious, aren't you. What happened? Why are you here?" Reese blurted.

"Our old world ended. We thought we would end with it, but instead, we seem to have been transported here." Lurk answered.

"Why did it end?" Ismeena asked.

"The gods all died." Though he was unsure where the statement had come from, Lurk felt it was the right thing to say. His wife nodded. After a drawn out silence, the male pulled a gold coin from his pocket and handed it to the Queen.

"Do you know the word YGGDRASIL? Or does that coin seem familiar?" The currency he had handed the Kadusian monarch was the eponymous currency of their old world, bearing the nine-branched world tree on each side. Turning the weighty gold coin over in her palm, Ismeena shook her head before handing it to Reese. He also answered in the negative.

"I'm sorry, I'm unfamiliar with your word or your coin." The Queen had genuine sorrow in her tone.

Harmony piped in next.

"Could you tell us about this world? What other lands are there? What of the people? The races? Are there monsters?"

"Before you leave, I shall have our cartographer fetch a copy of our most accurate map. It should help a great deal. Take it with my thanks. Please, feel free to tour my city after we're done. Our local chapter of the Seeker's guild has many seasoned men and woman from afar. I'm sure many of them are well-traveled enough to tell you of the dangers of the wilds." Ismeena was bold and proud of her land, and her people.

Just then servants returned with a fresh pot of tea and a platter stacked high with golden finger-cakes, tops glistening with fresh honey. Lurk took the offered cup of steaming tea gratefully and had a sip of the fragrant liquid. Hints of lemongrass and hibiscus with just a touch of rosewater gave it a light, refreshing palatability. Harmony helped herself to a bite of honey cake and chirped happily, telling Lurk that he should have a taste. Giggling, she fed her husband the sweet treat, seeing him light up when the dense confection hit his tongue.

Ironically, it was this little display that set Ismeena most at ease. The draconic monarchs showed such an easy comfort with one another that reminded her of her own husband, and set her heart aching to the song of longing.

"I think we may have much to learn from one another. Captain Reese told me you magic casters are quite formidable." First and foremost, Queen Belgrave was no diplomatic slouch.

"Ah, I can see why you would think the Sharpshooters are casters. It's actually the special weapons they carry." The Wyrmblood male set down his drink. From his inventory, Lurk summoned a Type Ninety-Nine. Leaning forward, he passed a claw over the components of the rifle. Warren in particular paid very close attention.

Though Ismeena was not as enamored with tools of war as her city Captain was, she could appreciate the clean lines of the wooden components and metal cylinder of the foreign armament. More than the Type Ninety-Nine, Belgrave took note of the many intricate, clearly magical rings that adorned eight of Lurk's digits.

"In itself, this one is very simple. It uses self-contained ammunition. It can hold ten such shots, and can be fired as quickly as one can work the bolt and pull the trigger." Lurk pulled back the straight, infantryman style bolt, and fetched a round out of his coat to hand to the Queen. Here, the Wyrmblood was in his element. "When you fire one round, the extractor on the bolt ejects the spent casing, and chambers a new one when you push it forward."

Being an educated monarch, Ismeena could roughly follow what Lurk was saying. When she held the brass and copper point tube however, she became completely lost. How could such a small thing kill a man? Warren had told her that he had seen more than a hundred cut down in an instant with such things.

Seeing the Captain's interest, Lurk held up the rifle for the man. Unable to quash his curiosity, Warren walked around where his ruler sat and took the offered wood and metal contraption. Watching the human get the heft and balance of the gun and work the bolt, Lurk considered that Reese likely could not have pulled the trigger, lacking levels in the Gunnery job class required to use even the most basic firearms of YGGDRASIL. The Wyrmblood made mental note to test that theory at a later date to see if the same rules still applied to even just a mechanical system.

"What do your people know of magic? I saw a few of the bandits casting spells." Lurk took the opportunity to turn the conversation back in the direction he wanted it.

"Though these questions would be most suited for our head wizard, I can attempt to answer them to the best of my knowledge." Though she eschewed violence, Queen Belgrave did have a fondness for magic. She liked finding and sponsoring young mages, and helped foster the Kadusian Caster Academy.

"It seemed like tier magic. Do you know it?" Harmony asked.

The queen puffed out her chest and lifted her chin.

"Of course, we have many casters and Seekers who know up to third tier. Our head wizard even knows a fifth tier spell, though he is away with my husband. What spells did your casters use today? I'm told it was very powerful."

Lurk and Harmony exchanged yet another glance. Harmony felt the tickle of her husband's connection.

[Message]

_She can't be serious..._

_I think she is._

_What do you think we should show them?_

_Do you think the highest is really fifth tier? I can't even remember the last time I used a fifth tier spell._

_We would have seen it during the attack. No one in the city is even high enough level._

_Let's not show our hands easily. Don't admit what tier, but not deny it either._

_Good idea. What spell then?_

_Let's not use anything... Destructive._

_I'll use Unbound. We'll be able to see how they react to that._

[End Message]

"I think it would be easier to demonstrate." Lurk stood. "Our home has come to reside in the mountains to your kingdom's west by my reckoning. I can show you exactly where. That way you can inform your soldiers, just in case they need to travel nearby. We'll be there and back again in a few seconds."

"You claim to know [Teleportation]? That's fifth tier." The Queen remarked, and Lurk shook his head.

"Oh no. Normal [Teleportation] has limits on distance. I don't know how well it translates in this world. No, my Mask allows me to use [Greater Teleportation] without casting time, or other effects of my choosing."

"Such spells only exist in legend. It is one thing to allege knowledge, and bolder still to declare you can cast magic of myth." Ismeena narrowed her eyes only a hair, yet otherwise remained unfazed.

The Wyrmblood nodded in understanding. Based on their responses, actions, and all reconnaissance performed through scrying on the city, fourth tier seemed to be the limits of the Kadusians and the surrounding territories. If such a lowly scaling of magic was seen as the heights, it was little wonder they regarded something as simple as [Greater Teleportation] with incredulity and skepticism. Lurk must have sounded like quite the charlatan.

"The mountains? You can't be serious. That's a six day journey by horse if you ride it to death." Reese challenged. "You're not goin' anywhere with Queen Ismeena." Warren declared as he folded his arms over his chest, defiant of any magic caster no matter how powerful they claimed to be.

"You're more than welcome to come instead, Captain Reese. We'll be gone for less than a minute. My wife will even wait here for us." Lurk stated as he made a casual pulling gesture over his visage.

When the Wyrmblood summoned his Mask of the Unbound, Warren had to tell himself not to recoil. The alien visage turned to him and the human felt his knees grow weak. The Captain would not buckle however. Not with his Queen watching.

"Captain, if you would place your hand on my shoulder." Lurk's voice echoed, as though his words passed through an ethereal undercurrent.

With a fearlessness he did not feel, Reese walked around the couch and did so. He took a deep breath to control his breathing even as his heart beat at a furious pace. When a hand as light as a songbird came to rest on his shoulder, he looked in shock to Queen Ismeena. Ismeena was a strong-willed woman. She understood that it was necessary to be bold, and fearless. She considered that it might have been a trap, but seriously doubted that if Lurk was as powerful as he claimed to be, it would have been a needlessly elaborate plan. She stood behind her Captain and beamed in response, committed to her action.

"Alright, here we go." Without any other preamble, the King of Black Sky took a step.

To Ismeena and Warren, it felt like a full body blink. For less than a second, all five of their senses gave back nothing. A muffling blackness fell on them, and was just as quickly lifted.

"Here we are." Lurk remarked casually. "I would love to give you both a formal tour some time later. Today has been a long day already, and I wouldn't want to inconvenience either of you. I'm sure both of you have a lot of work after the bandit attack."

Neither of the two Kadusians had words. They were stunned to silence, either by the sight of the ornate door of The Citadel, or the speck in the distance that was their city. Ismeena and Reese were petrified. Rooted by their feet, mouths agape. They breathed in the noticeably colder, thinner mountain air.

"Hm," The Wyrmblood said, more to himself. He gave them a moment to look around, then stepped them back to where the three had been standing only moments prior.

Stumbling back, Warren was quick to remove his contact with the tall draconic man. Worry commanded him to guide his Queen back to her seat.

"What do you really want from us, King Lurk?" Ismeena Belgrave demanded.

"We'd like to be your friends." The High Lord answered.

"What conditions would you impose on this relationship?" The Kadusian retorted.

The true negotiator, Harmony stepped in to the conversation properly.

"Please, don't think we're looking for such... Forceful alliances. We haven't come here out of malice. We didn't come to your city's aid because we expected to be compensated. I genuinely believe there's no reason we can't be neighborly. In our old world, we never sought conflict with others. But we were always ready to answer it. Especially if it was on behalf of a friend." Harmony was soft, but firm in her assurances.

"Once my husband returns from helping our allies in the Coalition from fending off the Heymon Empire, I'd be more than happy to work out formal wording on a partnership between our two kingdoms. Until then, will a non-aggression agreement suffice? I would ask-"

"That we return with our troops? Naturally. Like I said, we only came to help. Not to occupy or conquer." Having passionately studied many a dark age European society, Lurk could guess what the Kadusian ruler was going to ask.

"Thank you." Queen Ismeena released a deep breath in relief. "I don't want to seem ungrateful. I would just prefer to have my husband present before jumping into such a commitment."

"That's perfectly understandable. Would it be agreeable for us to leave just ten of our troops here in the city? I can instruct them to give aid if your city comes under attack again, as well as a means to contact us instantly, should the need arise. Or if you just want to talk. Ah, I actually have the perfect candidate in mind." He turned to his wife. "Let me go get one of the Caliber Court. One of them should be well-suited."

"Good idea, darling." Harmony spoke around a mouthful of dense honey cake.

Once more, Lurk vanished.

In the interim, the Scarlet Drake engaged the Queen in simple, endearingly girly discourse. Both Ismeena's dress and city were brought up in equal measures of grace, beauty, and aesthetic. With her background in digital graphics, Harmony was well acquainted with color theory and fashion. Pleasantly surprised and disarmed in parallel, Ismeena connected the monarch who sat across from her with strength that she envied and passion with which she empathized.

In short order the High Lord returned with Lapua Magnum in tow.

Lapua was a member of a rather obscure race. The Neverborn were a psionically sensitive species. Her features were elf-like, however a nest of slim tendrils sprouted from her head in place of hair. A halo of psionic power floated inches from her brow, giving her face a pale cast. Her irises and sclera were cloudy, but she was far from blind. The most striking and immediately noticeable oddity were her arms. They were long, covered in chitinous alabaster plating, and bifurcated at the elbow. Each hand ended in four segmented, sharply-tipped fingers.

She wore the aristocratic armor ensemble that all the Caliber Court shared. Her outfit was replete with both filigree mail and the trimmings of Victorian era vestments. Though for Lapua, it was important her arms were free and unimpeded. All four of her hands lifted the hem of her half-skirt as the Neverborn curtsied.

"Fairest Lady! Queen Harmony, your beauty is as the rising of the reddest sun. This humble member of the Caliber Court is truly graced to have been given such a glorious purpose by the Supreme Ones this day."

Only after Harmony dipped her head, acknowledging the Neverborn, did Lapua turn and properly introduce herself to the other occupants.

"Greetings, and fair day. I am Three-Thirty-Eight Lapua Magnum. Please, call me Lapua." When the Neverborn spoke, her smiling lips did not move. Instead, the air vibrated at her psionic command to emulate speech.

Glancing at the two Kadusians gawking at one of the less threatening of the Caliber Court, Lurk wondered if he should have gotten Mags instead.

Ah well, all things in retrospect, the Wyrmblood thought to himself.

"High Lord Lurk has given me the honor of acting as a representative of Black Sky Legion. I shall pray to the holy Tetragrammaton that we can foster a relationship that serves The Citadel and Kadusia both, Queen Ismeena Belgrave and Captain Warren Reese."

Fumbling for her etiquette, Ismeena did her best not to stare.

"I'm sure Captain Reese will be able to find you appropriate accommodations within the city, miss Lapua. It's the least we can do after the service your King and Queen have done for our people."

Pitching in, Warren clumsily contributed.

"Miss, uh... Lapua... Just, if you please, return to the palace, or ask one of my watchmen, and we can direct you to one of the manors we keep for diplomatic guests."

"Thank you, Queen Ismeena. Though I wish the Court had been able to participate, I'm glad to hear that the Legion's actions this day were meritorious." The Neverborn placed a pair of hands over her heart.

Harmony chose that moment to break into the discussion.

"My husband and I don't wish to take anymore of your time. As long as nothing else unexpected happens, please ask Lapua to contact us when your own husband arrives back. That way we can lay down a more formal peace agreement."

"Of course, I'm sure he will love to meet all of you. In the meantime, please, enjoy the offerings of my city. Its sights and wonders are plentiful, I assure you. Would you like me to arrange a guide?"

"I think we'll just stroll for a bit, then return home." The Harmony looked to her mate and he nodded in agreement.

Giving their formal farewells and goodbyes, the first meeting between Black Sky Legion, and the city-state kingdom of Kadusia was officially ended.

The Queen was first to speak as soon as she was certain they would not be overheard.

"Captain Reese. I'd like to hear your thoughts. If it came to blood, how would we fare?" Ismeena's face was drawn tight.

The seasoned watchman replied instantly.

"They would crush us. No illusion spell that I know could've done what King Lurk did. And since that only leaves the possibility that what he showed us was real, that means he's more powerful than a simple human could ever be. And he did it without effort. Without preparation or difficulty. With just a few hundred, they massacred ten-thousand men in hours." His hands were still shaking.

"I wish I could disagree. Let us pray that they are true to their words of peace and fellowship. I fear that is our only hope of survival."

***BSL***

Having given the order to the rest of their army hours ago, nearly all of Black Sky Legion had returned to The Citadel.

Lurk made sure to instruct Lapua not to divulge information about or use any spell over seventh tier unless it was an emergency. The rulers of Black Sky put their heads together and came up with a long list of inquiries for the Neverborn, acting as their envoy to Kadusia, to look into. She would make a daily report to The Citadel on her findings. Each member of the Caliber Court were level ninety back in YGGDRASIL, and Lurk was confident that she could handle herself, but still left the woman with five Silver Knights and four Sharpshooters just in case.

Ten, just as they had agreed with Queen Belgrave.

It was with this small retinue, that Harmony and Lurk wandered the streets of Kadusia. They simply followed the path of least resistance, following the whim of fancy and wanderlust. Residential houses leaned on each other like old friends in the older districts, having been built up generation by generation. Family-owned businesses hawked wares or were closing for the evening. There was some light to be had, and Kadusia's arteries still flowed with its people, bustling about at a much more sedate pace.

As the group passed a bakery preparing his ingredients for the following morning, they stopped to watch and remarked upon the simple routine.

"Look at that medieval baker doing medieval baking shit."

Snorting in amusement, Harmony marveled at the liveliness of the inhabitants. Although the baker was too engrossed in his work, many gaggles of onlookers watched the visiting royalty and their now famed knights and reptilian casters.

"I mean, damn, hun. This is it. We're really doing it. Can you believe it?" Lurk continued.

"This was supposed to all end. But it didn't. We didn't. The Citadel didn't. We can make a place for ourselves."

Lurk grabbed his wife's claw and swept her into a hug. Chest to chest, their noses only inches away, they gave each other a quick peck.

"Shall we retire for the evening my Lady?" Affecting a thick, nasally tone, the Wyrmblood licked his love's cheek.

"After you, my King."

The pair vanished in a muted arcane flash.

After the wedded pair left, Lapua Magnum was left to squeal in absolute joy. The Neverborn let her formality fall for just a brief jaunt of self-indulgence, jumping and prancing about, giddy as a schoolgirl at the prospect of serving her Lord and Lady. Giving her best ballerina twirl, Lapua stifled her giggles with four palms, and gave thanks to her Supreme rulers.

***BSL***

After one of the longest days of his life, Captain Warren Reese just wanted to go home. Preferably to spend the rest of the evening with his wife and child in his most comfortable chair with a mug of his favorite mead. His station afforded him some of the nicer things in life, and owned a large house near the center of Kadusia.

Closing the gate of their grassy front yard behind him, Warren sighed in relief. His daughter, wearing one of his gray tunics had been waiting for his return, and ran to him.

"Daddy! Daddy!" She cried. "Look what I got!"

***BSL***

**Author's Notes: Hello, gentle reader to the end of this chapter! If you've made it this far, then you have my thanks! Much gratitude for all the kind words thus far. Don't worry, the story is just beginning.**

**This whole insane foray into the Overlord series was spawned from a discussion between my loving wife and I. One day I managed to convince my lovey honey bunny to watch the anime with me, and we binged virtually the whole thing. From that came... The Citadel. We talked about what we would make if YGGDRASIL was real. She and I are a gamer couple for life. Everything we play together. And have for many years. From Nox, Crisis, Phage, Skitharix, Novus, Wrath, Ruin, Legion. Everyone. All sprang into being after hours of just excitedly talking about what would be cool and what we would have fun with.**

**So there you have it! As I said, there's so much more to come. And I hope if you've made it this far, you continue with me on this journey.**


	5. Entropy

Warning! This chapter contains graphic depiction of explicit sexual relations between a married couple. You have been warned, oh reader mine.

***BSL***

Hints of ancient Roman architectural influence were sprinkled throughout The Citadel. Both Lurk and Harmony shared an appreciation for fantasy worlds and settings that drew inspiration from historical sources. Just with flares here or there. The ninth floor had elaborate bath houses. The veined marble and ornate decor betrayed the old world inclination of the structures.

Each separate bathing area was the size of an Olympic swimming pool. Hot spa water cascaded from statues, fountains, and long aqueducts that ran the circumference of many. Some had a vaulted ceiling, while others had nocturnal ivy that formed a living canopy of emerald green. Some were open, and others more private, with partitions of fluted columns supporting shingled red clay roofs. All of the baths had lounging areas with chairs, benches, bars with drinks, and changing rooms.

All of it was needlessly embellished and had served no practical function back in the game.

Now, actually swimming in the luxury of their own private bath house, Lurk no longer regretted having put way too much time and effort into their creation. He had spent many a long night studying building tutorials for YGGDRASIL to get all the moving pieces in order. Though Harmony lacked the skill in geometry to actually make anything other than the Greco-Roman statues, her feminine sensibilities insured that each bathhouse was furnished with appropriate five-star resort level creature comforts.

She had been the one to suggest not just taking a bath, but skinny dipping. It was their house after all. And they could be naked if they damn well pleased. Something they both valued, was privacy. The married couple had lived together on their own for many years. Strangely, even with The Citadel now brimming with life, Lurk did not feel this peace intruded upon.

Busy being enthralled with her immense strength and the novelty of swimming with a tail, Harmony was happily gliding about.

Relaxing on the outer perimeter, the Wyrmblood sat on one of the deep steps going down into the spa with his arms splayed out onto the edge on either side. Taking a deep breath, Lurk lost himself to his body's feedback. Though he knew this particular bath was scalding hot, the water felt perfectly pleasant in temperature. The parts of him that were thick with scales seemed natural, as if he had been born in the form. He was very glad his avatar had binocular vision. Different sight would have been very disorienting.

The Scarlet dragoness floated into her husband's arms with a contented sigh.

"Mmm, this is nice. I can't remember the last time we relaxed like this." Harmony nuzzled into her lover's chest.

"Let's go for a walk through the Arboretum after this. Like how we used to walk around that city park? I miss that." He answered.

Being a virile male, Lurk noted his wife's lovely naturally buoyant breasts in the warm water. A stirring roused within his nethers as he drank in an eyeful of her jewelry adorned bosom. Back when the couple had first gotten together, they had fucked like rabbits. Though things had eased down from a boil, their sex life had never cooled like so many couples. It had stayed at a warm simmer throughout their time together.

When Lurk pressed his snout into her jawline, Harmony knew exactly what he wanted. Without thinking, she tilted her head to give him easier access. His tongue, warmer still than the spa, danced from the hollow of her throat, up her neck, to nibble at her ear.

"Hey, how long is your tongue now?" He asked, sticking out his own long, serpentine appendage.

"Bleh," The Scalebound said as she worked the muscle, not having considered it. Sure enough, hers was similarly reptilian. "Oh, tha feelsh weird." Before she could pull her tongue back, Lurk could not resist playing. Their forked ends danced before Lurk corkscrewed his around his wife's. They both moaned around the strange kiss. Even Harmony's tongue had a streak of gold that ran along the underside. Once more impulsive, the male pulled his mate's lips into his muzzle by pulling her tongue into his mouth. He massaged and sucked on her, loving the way she murmured in answer.

Even though YGGDRASIL did not allow x-rated contact, and facial expressions did not exist, they would often bump noses as a way of showing affection, as a kind of surrogate kiss. It was comforting to make that familiar motion with new benefits. Whenever one of their old friends bemoaned losing the 'passion' in their significant other, neither Lurk or Harmony could ever empathize. The flames of love and intimacy never went out for the couple. Not even a little. They just got used to the heat, and relished the ever-present warmth the other provided.

Harmony inwardly pondered the receptive nature of her new body. The stimulation felt almost as intense as she had before losing her virginity to Lurk. Though she was immensely grateful that when they had first had sex in their newfound forms, she did not need human cherry popping. Going through that once with a very well endowed man was more than enough.

Even though they had barely kissed and done only a little heavy petting, Harmony checked to pleasantly find herself absolutely drenched. A quick rut seemed perfectly appropriate, breaking their tangled tongues. She knew exactly how to rile him up too, bending over the steps and spreading her legs. Even flagging her tail for good measure. The Wyrmblood grasped his manhood in one claw, guiding his tip to rub between the plump, aroused petals of the lovely lady presenting herself so wonderfully.

A sly grin split Lurk's muzzle as he dragged his length a little higher, nudging the lubricated tip into Harmony's butt. The Scarlet dragoness jumped at the contact before easing back with a moan.

"We can't do that. We need lube." She whined. Once the idea was planted by her naughty partner, the desire to have him fuck her up the ass made her delicates clench.

"Oh, I know." Lurk chuckled, before sinking into the proper hole for mating.

Ripe nethers engulfed the male. He moaned openly, unabashedly enjoying his wife's plump peach. Between the Scalebound sex and the spa, it felt as though he was sinking his cock into a sheath of molten gold. Grasping claws found a luscious waist and stroked her haunches.

Harmony's lower lips sang with pleasure as she was filled to the brim with hard dragon cock. The way his new shape tugged at her sensitive walls was always wonderful. Just as she thought he was all the way inside, his last few inches forced the end of her tunnel to conform to the head of his member. Even with new bodies, he always had an extra bit of length to make her gasp and squirm. Rubbing along the smooth muscle of her cervix was not unpleasant, and just enough to let her know how spread she was.

Once buried to the hilt, Lurk used his knees to widen Harmony's stance, getting her mound to rest just above the water line. Reaching back with her tail, the Scalebound hooked her husband's waist and pulled him close. Once again, Lurk and Harmony both embraced the exotic nature of their situation. It was undeniably each other, yet the bodies they inhabited were more suited to divinity.

The Dragon Incarnate took his time, luxuriating in sawing his length in and out of his wife's silky folds, water splashing against the edge of the pool at their motion.

One of the many Lamia maids that took care of the custodial work around The Citadel emerged from a side entrance carrying a pile of fresh towels, humming to herself. Although the lip of the bath prevented the Lamia from being able to directly observe Lurk and Harmony's carnal union, when she caught sight of her Supreme ones very obviously engaged in adult activities, she promptly fainted.

Although he stopped thrusting, Lurk's iron-hard cock lost none of its potency as he called out to the other maids waiting outside. Harmony was too busy giggling.

"Ladies!" He shouted, his voice easily carrying beyond the threshold of the room. A pair of maids poked their heads in at their lord's call with their eyes covered by dainty hands.

"Please, come help your sister." He instructed, significantly more amused than upset.

Nearly jumping out of their skins, a trio of Lamias rushed forward to help their stricken sibling. It took them a minute of searching, having covered their eyes before entering. Eventually they were successful, and carted away the unconscious snake-lady.

"Hey, d'you remember that time we had sex in that park late at night?" The equally mischievous and devious dragoness pushed her hips back, impaling herself on Lurk, feeling his length twitch inside her at the memory.

"Mmm, I remember," Lurk agreed, meeting his wife's naughty motion and giving the female a bit more length than she bargained for, feeling the stiff head strain against the depth of her nethers. Lurk ran his claws down the the Scalebound's smooth back. With her wings retracted, there was only the faint marks where they would emerge.

"Ohh, grab my horns." Harmony moaned.

Yet again, Lurk needed no more encouragement. He reached forward with a claw and wrapped his digits around an alabaster horn.

Indulging his carnal whim, the Wyrmblood happily pounded his wife's pussy until climax overcame the male. He might have lasted longer if he had tried, but neither wanted to indulge too much. Tugging on Harmony's horns in time with the zenith of his ecstasy made her back arch and thighs slap back onto his deliciously. She gyrated her hips just a little, to help milk his cock free of its burden.

With the hot bath as reference, Harmony realized just how scorching her husband's seed was. She nearly laughed upon realizing that he probably would have melted her if the Scalebound did not have the racial bonuses she did. Heat resistance was mandatory for surviving Muspelheim. And apparently for surviving coitus with her husband too.

Unable to tear his eyes away, the Wyrmblood relished the view of crimson and gold flecked labia parted into a rosy teardrop. The buried ruby at the top of her sex shined with their combined aureate and white juices.

"Ah! Fuck, honey. You cum a lot now." Harmony groaned, love tunnel sloshing as she was uncorked. Her further chambers felt saturated with heat and greedy male essence. Yet, it was a heavy comfort, like massaging a deep muscular ache. It reminded her of when she and Lurk would make love to relieve the pain of her feminine cycle.

"D'you like it?" Lurk puffed his chest out expectantly, reveling in the masculine act of making his lover just the right kinds of dirty.

"I mean, if you're gonna make a mess, at least you did it when we were already in a bath." Harmony giggled.

***BSL***

The ninth floor Arboretum served many vital functions to the upkeep of The Citadel. It was the one of the most secluded area of Black Sky's base, second only to the treasury itself.

Before creation of the Arboretum, Lurk shuddered to recall all the foraging he had to undergo in order to be useful in combat. The material cost was one of the larger reasons firearms were highly underutilized in YGGDRASIL. Ammunition was expensive. Good ammo was hideously so. And the best ammo was damningly valuable to waste. Once the most commonly consumed components were available to Lurk in renewable quantities, he was able to go from using everything made, to arming the many denizens of The Citadel with power similar to what he wielded.

As a gamer, Lurk was always striving for efficiency. Mass production. Which dungeons to grind. Which materials had the best time to value ratio. Minimum viable ammunition expenditure.

Hundreds of herbs and alchemical ingredients were cultivated and grown in the safety and convenience of their home. The two leaders of Black Sky passed neatly developed squares of ocher Nitroshrooms, hedges of Blazenuts, Bomberry bushes, and Blast Yews. Much of the area was given over to practical nurseries for ammunition and stat-boosting potion ingredients, Woodsolution had sprinkled his personal touches throughout.

Dirt paths connected the dedicated partitions, with vast oaks lending their shade to the footpaths. Gurgling streams meandered lazily through small meadows. Water sources were hidden with rocky outcroppings, topped with gazebos that offered breathtaking views of the colorful patchwork of farms. Attendant Nymphs darted here and there, grooming fickle Vanir Aspen, or carrying baskets full of fruits of the gardener's labors.

At the center was the home of the Arboretum's area guardian. Lurk and Harmony meandered their way lazily, arm in arm, to the stand of cherry blossom willows that circled an azure pond.

Although she was in essence, a living tree, Loam had subtle feminine curves. Long willow branchlets cascaded down her shoulders. Small white flowers bloomed from the bark on her shoulders.

"High Lord Lurk, and Lady Harmony, welcome to the Arboretum." The towering Treant bowed so low her branchlets brushed against the ground.

"Thank you, Loam. Don't mind us. We just wanted to enjoy a walk through here." Lurk affirmed.

"Mind! Please, High Lord, and most beautiful Lady, it is my singular joy to have the... _Last_ two Supreme Beings in my humble garden."

"Loam, are you okay?" Harmony asked, squeezing her husband's claw as she did so.

The Treant gave a long sigh like a spring breeze.

"I... Feel a great sorrow at the absence of Lord Woodsolution. Was it something I did, my Lady?" The Treant visibly wilted upon mention of her creator.

"We..." Harmony searched for the right words. "He would have been here, if he could've. He didn't leave you behind. Not on purpose. I promise. Nothing you did drove him away, if that's what you're afraid of. He was always proud of you. If you need anything, just ask, okay?"

"You believe so? I... I want you to assure, my Lady, that I will not falter in my duties. I won't disappoint my Lord. Even if he's not here."

There was movement near the couple as another Area Guardian entered the area. Loam turned and addressed the newcomer in the grove. Another of Woodsolution's creations.

"Ah, hello, Lord Chickenbomb." The Treant chirped happily.

While the small gaggle of hens around him clucked like real hens, Chickenbomb actually spoke the word 'cluck'.

"**Cluck. Cluck cluck.**"

Fowl. Greater Fowl. Feathery Doom. Living Bomb.

Thirty-five levels spent on one of the most ridiculous creations the game had allowed its users to make. They had considered the name Lord C4, but it just did not roll off the tongue the same way Lord Chickenbomb did.

While Lurk desperately tried to contain his laughter at seeing the ridiculous creation of his old friend brought to life in all its insane glory, Harmony asked another question.

"Loam?"

"Yes, Lady Harmony?"

"Do you have anything that's safe to use... as uh, lube?"

"What do you mean, my Lady?" The Treant tilted her head ever so slightly.

"You know... Personal lubrication. Something to..."

"A marital aid." Lurk chimed in, still keeping himself from exploding with mirth.

"Oh, you mean... Oh. Oh! Oh my." Loam's shoulder flowers closed their petals. The poor thing rubbed her legs so tightly together she was at risk of setting herself ablaze. The Treant squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she held out a small glass bottle. "This essence of rose is safe for... Intimate areas. I use it to keep my softer areas conditioned and supple, so I know thatitprovideslubricationthatlastsawhilepleasetakeit."

"Thank you, Loam." Lurk said, taking the bottle and tucking it into his inventory. It would be good for regular coupling as well as making other bedroom fun more comfortable.

Bidding their farewells, the monarchs of The Citadel departed the Arboretum. They took their time, enjoying the walk along the shaded paths.

After the couple left, Loam sat on the edge of her pond with her legs in the water. Dealing with her gods was overstimulating.

"**Cluck. Cluck.**" Said Lord Chickenbomb as he ambled over to where Loam cooled her roots. The Treant smiled and picked up the Feathery Doom. She lovingly stroked Lord Chickenbomb just as her creator would, and found it soothing. Loam had been made to be the caretaker of the Arboretum. That was the purpose and duty her Lord had blessed her with. Knowing that they had not been abandoned because of some failing on her part lifted a great weight the Treant did not know she had been carrying.

***BSL***

When the monarchs returned to their room to retire, they found Koh there, tidying. Upon the arrival of his masters, the only male Lamia turned and bowed.

"Koh? What are you doing? I thought the maids took care of this area." Harmony asked.

Much taller, and obviously masculine, the snake-man had splotches of red scales that faded to rich hues of orange. His chest and belly, leading down his underside was of an alternating checkerboard pattern of black and white. His monochrome suit accented his racial coloration.

"Yes, my Lady. I have taken it upon myself as butler to see to your personal quarters. Unfortunately my little slinkies found your bed sheets a little too... Stimulating. The poor dears."

With utmost grace and decorum, Koh excused himself and slithered to his other duties.

***BSL***

Even though they had gone straight to bed, the married couple spent hours just talking. There was a panoply of topics to discuss, and they could hardly wait to explore the rest of The Citadel. It was like a kid discovering that their toy box had sprung to life, with all the lives and dreams they had imagined them with.

Snuggled into blankets of angel down, Harmony eventually did succumb to slumber.

Though he tried to sleep, an idea trespassed upon Lurk's calm. His loving Harmony had convinced him to log on. Without her, he would not be there. There was one piece of work he wanted to feel, to know was real, if only for a moment. If he were to wake up back in his human body once more on earth, he needed it to be without regret. An object, a weapon, epitomized his time spent making The Citadel.

Entropy.

No other singular item had consumed more of Lurk's time in all his tens of thousands of hours gaming. Once the urge to hold, and fire it with real feedback on his senses occurred to him, it was all the Wyrmblood could think of. With Harmony fast asleep, loose and relaxed after the spa and their stroll, Lurk moved carefully out of bed so as not to disturb her. Throwing on a simple shirt and pants, he headed down the hall to a place he knew very well.

The Citadel's firing range existed as a pocket space. Larger on the inside. Targets could be summoned as far as the longest range spells could reach. Straw dummies small to large, glass panes, paper silhouettes, clay pigeons, and more were a part of the range's repertoire. All the targets could be configured to pop up numbers when struck. Back in the day, the range had been an invaluable tool in evaluating spells, weapons, and damage. It was somewhere Lurk felt really belonged to him. It was soothing to just cut loose, and sink into the meditative reverie of placing shots on a target.

Many play styles were mindless. Click a button on your console, and the game would do the rest. However, the makers of YGGDRASIL had utilized the full-dive system to introduce some requisite mechanical skill. When first delving into the offerings of ranged combat that was not just spamming auto lock on spells, Lurk had to get down the muscle memory of aiming and firing. The job classes pertaining to firearms appealed to him because of the skill ceiling they represented. Actual time and effort put into physical marksmanship outside of assistance offered by skills was rewarded.

Lost in thought, the monarch did not notice the tiny patter of little Soot paws following him.

Did he hear laughing?

It was still so strange to regard The Citadel and all its denizens as alive. They were no longer restricted to programmable artificial routines. Fascinated, Lurk hovered on the stairs, simply observing the different Guardians and NPCs conversing and interacting. A mixed group of Corsairs and Sharpshooters sat around a table shouting bets and encouragements to the main attraction.

Ten Gauge, Five Five Six, a female Corsair, and a Demi-Claw were all engaged in a heated game of gun h-o-r-s-e. A level one training pistol was used by one to shoot bottles thrown by the other three, with every miss adding to the shooter's letters.

Nox was sitting nearby keeping track of score and bets.

As Lurk watched, it was Five's turn with the single-action revolver. In a bit of a devious move to try and take out the leader, the other three threw their bottles at nearly the same time. Fives was not easily tricked however, and fanned the hammer quickly, knocking all three down even firing from the hip.

Five Five Six was a demi-human. The anthropomorphic Jackal had fur of such a deep midnight blue it almost seemed black. Tall lupine ears stood proud and a bushy tail wagged from beneath her half-skirt. Several members of the Court had been designed with experimental or eccentric builds in mind. Fives, with her Acrobatics, and Rifle-Spear, was one of them.

Spinning the revolver around a finger, Fives grinned.

"C'mon, who's the best shot in all The Citadel." She boasted.

"Tut, tut, Fives. No one is the best aside from Lord Lurk." Nox reproached.

"Oh! My goodness. Of course, forgive my lack of decorum. There is no higher standard."

Gauge clicked his jaw and countered.

"So sure of yourself, Fives. I believe it's my turn next."

The other member of the Court, Ten Gauge, was a Wendigo. Proud antlers stood from the heteromorph's deer-skull visage. Gauge's Caliber Court outfit featured a prominent fur-lined collar in addition to its aristocratic frills. With his triple barrelled Hydra shotgun and tall shield, the Doom Slayer was a tank with a close range bite not to be underestimated.

Lurk peered around the corner of the staircase just in time to witness the exchange.

There was the sound of tiny limbs whacking against stone and indignant _'meeps'_ as Soot bounced down the stairs. He had tried to stop his scamper down the steps where Lurk was situated, only to trip. The Gunpowder Dragon landed at the bottom with a thump and a little shower of sparks. None the worse for wear due to being quite indestructible, the tiny black dragon turned and gave a disgruntled yip.

Everyone turned at the clamor and spotted their High Lord's snout sticking around the corner.

Fives dropped the pistol like it was a snake about to bite her and threw herself on the ground, skidding on plated knees to prostrate violently before Lurk.

"M-m-my-my-my Lord! High Lord! It was my idea, sire. Please, punish me." The Jackal pleaded.

"No! It was my idea! I was the one who challenged Fives to the game!" Ten Gauge, ready to fall on his metaphorical sword to save his fellow Court member nearly smacked his face into the floor in his haste to grovel.

A loud clattering of chairs filled the room as the gaggle of Citadel denizens hastily stood and displayed their loyalty.

"Well, I thought it was a good idea." Chimed Nox, even though he too was bowing.

The poor Demi-Claw and Corsair still at the firing line were too petrified to speak, their mouths open in horror and reverence.

"Please, everyone, raise your heads. There's nothing to be ashamed or worried about. Why would I chastise someone wanting to polish their skills?" Lurk hoped he sounded convincing, trying to convey his honesty through a genuine tone.

Descending the last few steps, he extended his claws to the Court pair who had hurled themselves so passionately at his feet. Lurk did not want to be seen as a tyrant, and hoped his smile helped to ease the tension. Though they hesitated, gazing up at him in awe, the Acrobat and Doom Slayer both took their offered claw and were hauled to their feet.

"I just came down because I was thinking of how long it's been since I fired Entropy."

"The legendary weapon of High Lord Lurk! Truly sire? The one and only?" Fives had her hands clasped before her as if offering prayer, legs nearly buckling under the pressure of her Lord's mercy, the gun game forgotten in an instant. "You would... We could, could we? I mean, can we, uh, stay and watch, my Lord? Would you let these unworthy ones witness your glory?"

"Of course, you can all stay and watch."

A collective uplifted murmur went through the group.

"Can we hear the story, my Lord? Of Entropy? I believe telling of how you made it would let everyone else here better appreciate the majesty of the weapon." Nox offered. In truth, he had only ever heard bits and pieces, and desperately wished to know the full tale himself.

"An excellent idea, Nox." Lurk could not hide his grin. One thing the Wyrmblood could not resist, was telling a story. The monarch took a seat at the table and everyone scrambled to take a place, crowding around their Lord in anticipation. Corsairs climbed atop jockeying Demi-Claws while the Court members took the two coveted seats closest to Lurk, but at a respectful distance to give the Wyrmblood room to weave his tale.

From a very covetous subsection of his inventory, Lurk retrieved the gun in question.

Shaped with five cores that had taken Lurk years of scouring every inch of Muspelheim to retrieve, the weapon looked as though it had been carved from the calcified heart of a dead god. Entropy was a rifle that Lurk had incarnated into his vision of lethality. He wanted the sight of it to invoke the murderous intent it represented. Clean, sharp lines were the focus. Yet with just a hint of decay. Of malformed menace. The chassis of the weapon was a glassy black. Flickering halos of energy cascaded into one another, cast off the slumbering cores like fitful visions.

Lurk had tried to avoid the gaudy look so many players went for when designing it, and had gone through many different iterations. Entropy bore a resemblance to a firearm. It had a visible stock, upper and lower receiver, ergonomic grips, trigger, and barrel. Yet, thick cables and veins encrusted portions of the weapon. These were dark now, but fed energy into different parts from the cores depending on ammunition and firing modes selected. The five hearts, each an apple sized sphere, were safely entombed in nests of arterial tubes.

"Let me tell you, where this all began." Laying Entropy down on the table, Lurk passed a claw over the embedded cores. He tapped the central orb. An acidic green tetragram flickered, growing and devouring its own points as it rotated within the abyssal sphere.

A tiny snout was furiously nudging at his ankle, so Lurk reached down and scooped up Soot, setting the bundle of pudgy explosives up onto the table as well.

"Harmony, Woodsolution, and I, once got swept up in a small war. One of our allies had been threatened, and the nature of it meant that it could not go unanswered. The particulars of the battle aren't all that important. It was a fairly one sided fight all together. However, when dividing the spoils of the conquest into shares, I saw it. At the time, I was wearing one of my Masks, and spotted something glowing. As soon as I took off the Mask, the light went away, then came back as soon as I put on another mask."

Nox nodded sagely, folding his arms over his chest. It was a fundamental truth of The Citadel that High Lord Lurk always emerged victorious in the end.

"Glory to Black Sky!" A Corsair sitting on the shoulders of a Demi-Claw cried out. A series of answering calls rounded. Grinning, Lurk waited to the commotion to settle before continuing.

"No one else could see it lit up. To them, it was just a strange named rock. The Axiom of Blight. I never found another, or ever got those we beat to tell me where they got it. I don't think they even remembered that point. It had gone into their treasury to be forgotten. I would have forgotten about it too, if I hadn't heard about a puzzle months later, whose reward was a pair of orbs that no one knew what to do with."

With a flair for the dramatic, Lurk reached into his inventory and kept his claws closed. He made sure everyone was watching, before opening his palms onto the table. There were several gasps.

"Suncurse, and Light's Inversion." The Wyrmblood announced.

So named, the pair of cores orbited one another, each a twisted reflection. One had a smoldering orange corona with a blackened center. The other was a dark emitter that devoured light into its incandescent nucleus, like a baleful eye. Left to their own, the two slowly spun. Soot scampered forth and tackled the orbs, rolling off the table with his new treasures.

Not paying the antics of his pet any mind, Lurk continued speaking.

"I have two pairs because Harmony helped me with this particular challenge. The protector of Suncurse and Inversion would not reveal himself until a series of mirrors were lined up so that a beam of sunlight hit a specific spot. There was only one hitch. In order to get the last mirror aligned you actually had to hold it yourself. The lever was broken. So you had to get everything else straight while you hung upside-down from this stalagmite on the ceiling."

With his claws, Lurk indicated the nearly anatomically impossible position and everyone at the table winced in sympathy.

"With Harmony's help, these two weren't that much trouble to get. No, it was the last ones that proved to be the biggest obstacle."

"Nothing could be worse than a puzzle that required you, my Lord, and the great Lady herself!" Fives declared, with many agreeing.

"Irradiance was the one I spent the most time chasing. Literally chasing. Who here knows of the Glowing Sea?"

A few nodded while others looked around curiously.

"It was a vast desert. Stretched on and on. All kinds of anomalies would crop up. Places where up was down. Sand that moved like water. Invisible threads or walls that could trap and drag. Wild Deathclaws. Slagwurms. And the storms. Well, Irradiance would only appear in the Glowing Sea during a convergence storm. That was when things were most dangerous. Acidic lightning. Glass tornadoes. And so much radiation that it became visible currents that went against the wind."

No one dared to speak. Everyone was crowded shoulder to shoulder, not wanting to miss a single word.

"Harmony, Woodsolution and I, all spent a lot of time in the Glowing Sea. Very valuable resources and loot drops could only be found there. But whenever there was a storm, we always either took shelter, or left the area. It was just too hazardous. Even for us. However, I spotted Irradiance out in that desert many times. Always from far away. It wasn't until I began the hunt for Entropy's cores that I thought anything of it. Then, I remembered seeing it. Seeing that familiar glow."

"Before I could even get started, I had to make a few special tools. Most important was a remote sensor that could detect whenever a storm was brewing. Every time convergence came, I was there, scouring those dunes for any sign of Irradiance." With equal parts reverence and antipathy, Lurk tapped the core in question, nestled now safely and permanently in Entropy.

The Ancient Incarnate panned an open palm through the air, tracing the vast reaches of a desert more than a world away now.

"Unfortunately for me, finding it was difficult, and catching it was impossible. Across the whole of the Glowing Sea, it would only appear in one place. And never for very long. It had this strange pattern. Took me ages to figure out. The first time, just seeing it, Irradiance would teleport. It would flash, giving off this arrow of light, showing which direction it went. If you tried to use teleportation yourself during the first stage, you would never see it again. I had to fly after it."

"Surely it could not have been that easy." Nox breathed, dreading what trials such a powerful artifact required.

"If it was, I'd have dozens. No, once you got close enough, it would dart back and forth. It was complicated, but I eventually worked out the pattern the core followed. I could usually get it after one or two rotations. The next part was... Difficult. After touching it, Irradiance would teleport again. This time in order to get there, lightning needed to be dodged. A dozen bolts at least. Again, if teleportation spells were used, the core would disappear until the next storm."

Using his claws again, Lurk brought them inward, like a noose tightening, until the only thing visible was Irradiance on the table. A pale, churning teal glow and a single bright white ring bellied the instability of the sphere. It was a blue star as big as his palm on the verge of collapsing into a supernova. Ironically, the core emitted no radiation of its own. The density of mass that existed within the tiny space prevented any from escaping.

"The closer I got, the more that convergence would center around me. No matter how fast I was, I couldn't catch it after dodging the required lightning. Days went by. Weeks. Teleporting to the edge of the Glowing Sea whenever a storm cropped up. I chased it so hard, I burnt myself out on it. But I knew, I knew I couldn't give up. The second I gave up, it would be lost forever."

Shaking his head, the monarch reclined in his chair, tail thumping the ground for emphasis.

"One day, I had just woken up and had left my sensor on from the night before. It was already going off. I thought to myself, hey, why not? One quick look around couldn't hurt. So I teleported to this big rock formation where I usually started."

Lurk paused for dramatic effect, seeing everyone at the range with their eyes wide, hanging on his every word.

"And there it was. This close." Reaching his arm out, Lurk showed the proximity. "I just stood there, staring at it for a second. Could hardly believe it. I reached for it, expecting it to teleport away, like it always did. But it didn't. Irradiance let me take it. As though it would only truly come to me once I wanted it badly enough."

"Muspelheim itself was rewarding your patience and tenacity, High Lord." Ten Gauge clicked his jaw thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Gauge. It certainly seemed that way at the time. I've obtained many things only after what felt like a minimum threshold of effort." Lurk agreed with the Wendigo's assertion. Gauge sat in awe of his King and the praise given.

"Then, came the last." The Wyrmblood began. "There was a..." Lurk trailed off, having about to have said 'raid'. "Challenge of the land."

***BSL***

For what was surely the eight-hundredth time, Lurk sat in Surtr's throne room.

He knew every spawn. Every enemy. With a machine-like precision, Lurk could run through the dungeon. Every shortcut. All the puzzles. Everything.

Far back in the first days of YGGDRASIL, Black Sky Legion had conquered the raid, celebrated, and moved on. The dungeon was almost like a rite of passage for the inhabitants of Muspelheim. Most of the nine worlds had at least one iconic challenge. One that epitomized the creatures and spirit of that realm.

Much time later, when Lurk was on the prowl for Entropy's cores, he was helping guide some players through the dungeon. When he had reached the throne room, he saw it. From Surtr's chest, glowed the telltale sign of a core. Once more, Sovereign of the Masquerade revealed the hidden.

So it was, that Lurk threw himself at the dungeon. At first, he would guide others, acting as a gaming sherpa. The extra hands were useful. After hundreds of successful incursions into the deepest parts of Muspelheim, Lurk was in fact able to run the dungeon solo. It was an older one from the game's history. One of the first, in fact. Designed for smaller parties and lower leveled players.

Again and again, the Wyrmblood fought his way to Surtr. Over and over, Lurk slayed the presiding deity. He had trawled through ripped game files, message boards, and even went to the vast auction houses in the central cities. There was no item ever reported having dropped from the raid that resembled Lurk's prize.

So there he sat, pensive and thoughtful, wracking his brain for any possible angles he might have missed. He had prodded every stone, checked every chest, and combed down every hall of the dungeon dozens of times.

Like many such things, the final encounter did not begin until the raid boss was attacked. The ever-present glow of the core was so distracting, yet alluring, Lurk would often study the entity without a Mask.

It was by staring at the way Surtr sat in his throne, that at last the idea formed. The fire giant's hands were turned up, palms empty. One appendage even had its finger curled. As if around something no longer there. That emptiness made Lurk think of all the lore and background he had read of the boss. In the game's lore, the god-like being was supposed to rise up during Ragnarok.

With a sword.

Yet, Lurk could not recall a single attack where Surtr used a sword. The boss had many lava attacks where he would summon a hammer, or whip, or bow, but never a sword. Even more curiously, Surtr's Blade was a potential reward for completing the dungeon. Lurk had at least a dozen.

It was worth a try.

Surtr's Blade was an elaborate flamberge, almost comically oversized for a player avatar. In the giant's hand and open palm, it fit perfectly.

Taking several steps back, Lurk observed.

The fire giant stood, and the Ancient Incarnate prepared himself for battle, thinking that maybe now if he defeated...

Just as quickly as the thought formed, Surtr turned the blade down and sank its tip into the floor. The dungeon boss reached into his own chest, and pulled forth a glowing orb. Pulsing with a red, thumping beat, the sphere smoldered like a ball of magma.

The core. Surtr's Heart. Offered so easily. Just like that.

However, when he went down a second time to get another Heart...

***BSL***

"With the greed buff, Surtr was substantially more powerful than he normally was. And sadly, offered nothing extra for the trouble." The draconic king sighed. With dozens of Surtr's Blade, he had placed a copy of the blade on the table during his telling.

"Much like Irradiance, Surtr's Heart was a gift. The land recognizing your greatness, Lord." Gauge asserted with another click of his bony jaw.

"Wow, all that just to make a single weapon. Your vision is extraordinary, Lord." Fives breathed, hand to her fluttering chest.

"Yes, I had all the cores, but I ran into a problem when finally trying to assemble it."

Many gamers kept trophies. Items with no value, that held sentiment for them, and them alone. Though it was an entirely useless artifact, Lurk had kept the failed first attempt at making the chassis of Entropy. The assembly of NPCs all inhaled sharply at the sight of it. The shell had been constructed of priceless Nova Crystal. The hollows where the cores had meant to sit were ruined slag. The material seemed to have been melted by unbelievable temperatures.

"What could do that to Nova Crystal?" Nox asked, brushing a finger along the edge of one of the holes. Even as a husk, the weapon was intimidating. The normally fluid and radiant ore was dead, and dark, devoid of its whirling color.

"Muspelheim is fire, that's true. Paradoxically, many of its resources do not carry intrinsic fire resistance. The collective power of the cores ran parallel to the Nova Crystal, and it was too much. I had to obtain Prismatic Ore from another world. That is why Entropy is made of Celestial Uranium. It was the only thing I could find that would be able to contain the cores."

"That's why Lady Harmony traded with that Midgard alliance!" Said Nox, crashing a fist into an open palm in revelation.

"And, Celestial Uranium had a secret. I found out from another ally we traded with, that if I used enough of it, not only would Entropy be made, but a Caloric Stone as well."

"In one fell swoop, you not only created the most powerful weapon, but the heart of the Forgemother herself!" Nox crowed. Though many thought it was impossible to regard their creator with higher esteem, everyone present understood the worship they felt much better.

Unknowingly, Lurk had set something small, but powerful into motion. Nox would tell the other Floor Guardians the story. Fives and Gauge would tell the Court, and other area leaders. And even the Corsairs and Demi-Claws would carry it, telling by telling, until every inhabitant of The Citadel knew how their king had bent an entire world to his will.

"It was the culmination of years of work. Entropy was worth it though." Glancing back at Nox, Lurk's mood felt light enough to carry him away. "Do you wanna hold her?" He offered the Shadowkin.

Normally the very embodiment of unflappable snark, Nox stuttered.

"C-c-c-c-can I?" Even though he could not fire it, Nox was the only other one in the room with enough skills to even pick up Entropy. Despite knowing his hands were unworthy, it was an offer that would have been sacrilegious to refuse, and took the offered weapon. His Lord, Creator, God, had given him this singular blessing, and it was one that the Guardian made sure to forever remember.

Giddy as a kid in a candy store, the Shadowkin cradled the Divine weapon like a porcelain doll. Now the center of attention, Fives, Gauge, and several Corsairs bold enough, all huddled around the him. They all discussed the majesty of the weapon as Nox put Entropy to his shoulder, sighting down its elegant length.

Lurk watched on and could not remember the last time he had someone other than Harmony to share his gaming stories with. A burden that the Wyrmblood did not know he had been carrying was momentarily lifted from his shoulders, and the world seemed just a little more real.


	6. The Deep

Impenetrable dark surrounded Harmony. She hung in a starless abyss where light faltered in its strength. So far down, all memory of the sun receded, replaced by an utter blackness.

Yet, there was comfort in the midnight expanse. Harmony was safe in the cocoon. The deep water was not something to fear. She swam in a private void where there was only the touch of water conforming to her motion. Even in the dampening dark of the deep water, she still felt light as a feather. Floating through the current, she breathed deeply and easily as if she were still on land. The Scarlet Drake had always had an affinity towards the ocean, and was calmed by her surroundings. It was peaceful. Her max level strength meant a single casual kick of her feet or tail propelled her far. She wore a plain red one-piece swimsuit that she sometimes wore under her armor whenever the Scalebound needed to be able to delve into one of Muspelheim's oceans of fire.

A stirring broke her reverie as Harmony felt the displacement of something gargantuan moving through the deep. For the first time since descending she saw a glow boring through the tranquil abyss. A smoldering luminescence broke through the dark like stars peeking through an overcast sky. The auger of predator that lived and hunted in the blinding dark.

Long and growing longer, a ribbon of spots and glowing streaks undulated in the distance. The range belied the true nature of the creature and its subdued radiance. It grew larger, then larger still, until the titanic nature of the spiraling aquatic colossus became undeniable. Once Harmony's entire vision was occluded by the unrestrained mass of the creature was it actually close to her. The Leviathan circled her. The volume of the water it displaced with its passage moved Harmony dozens of feet. Fins that could summon catastrophe with their power swept over and below the Queen of Black Sky.

The Leviathan swam languidly up to its Supreme Being. Gently, it turned, spinning its thousands of tons of displacement with unimaginably powerful muscles. Indeed, if the Leviathan was subject to physical law, its own bulk would kill it. However, with the benefit of levels, physical resistance alone gave it strength to move at breathtaking speeds far beyond what any natural being alone could.

The Leviathan's design was inspired by mythical sea monsters and prehistoric ocean dwelling monstrosities.

A long snout full of teeth that were bigger than Harmony tilted to regard her with an eye that was easily twice her size. The Leviathan's body was not just long, but burly, immense fins propelled it through the water, and a tail that could crush battleships moved behind it. Its whole frame, from neck to tail, undulated through the water. The motion was slow, and again belied the quickness it could close on prey.

A sonorous, echoing melody filled the water as the Leviathan sang.

The mixture of high and low pitches reverberated through the space. With blue whales long extinct back on Earth, the Scalebound woman imagined that their song was like what she was hearing. Harmony felt the vibrations shake her to her core. The sheer size of the Leviathan made its melody match in intensity. As it hummed, hooted, and whistled, the Leviathan swam right up to Harmony, pushing its snout as carefully as it could up to its Lady. The melodies seemed happy. At least, she hoped they were. Even though it could not see, the music made Harmony smile.

She rubbed the snout that dwarfed her. Harmony had come down to see what the fifth floor held, and was not disappointed. Elated beyond measure would be more accurate.

The Leviathan, along with Novus, were the only Guardians that the members of Black Sky Legion had not themselves created. Harmony had actually won the Leviathan in a contest. A fishing competition, appropriately enough. One held on the lava banks of one of Muspelheim's great oceans.

The tricky part was not hooking one of the Lavasioth, it was dragging the lava-fish up onto shore and wrestling it into submission. Destroying the creature would make it disintegrate, and thus unable to be weighed and measured. Lurk had been away on a business trip while the event had been going on, so it was up to Harmony and Woodsolution to win the day. One of Woodsolution's real life pastime had been fishing, so it was his job to hook the biggest Lavasioth he could. Then it was Harmony's turn to grapple with the titanic, very angry mob, and drag its slippery ass into a special net. In the long hall of memories was picture of the tournament winning catch.

Laughing in bursts of bubbles, Harmony playfully twirled through the water. She shot off like a torpedo. The Scarlet Drake was a dolphin, joyfully cavorting around a larger creature. The Leviathan moved with her, watching and mimicking her flips and spins. The Leviathan alive and swimming was an entire carnival of lights and song, all for her.

Harmony wanted to know what lay in the depths of the fifth floor. It was every gamer's worst nightmare. A water level.

Lurk had spent an inordinate amount of time designing every floor of The Citadel into not just a visual feast for the chosen aesthetic of that level, but a death trap as well. The first and second floors were concrete nuts coated in steel that had to be cracked. The third was a literal army of pop monsters that were normally steamrolled by experienced players, and were transformed by a Guardian specced into turning those mobs into a meat grinder. By extension, the fourth was one of the turning points in defensive philosophy. Where the first through third were relatively straight forward affairs meant to deter through strength, Skitharix's floor was where things got psychological.

Once, Lurk had jokingly made a staircase that was invisible unless one looked at it from the correct angle. He had tricked Woodsolution into falling down it. Good times were had. However, it made him wonder how far the illusion spells he had used could be pushed. In a fit of maddened inspiration, Lurk had managed to code a set of stairs that only appeared if one were to look through a purposefully placed bit of rubble to create the optical illusion of steps. Once perceived, the stairs would be available for any member of the party to traverse. Though no matter how he tried to replicate the spaghetti programming that had miraculously violated several in game flagging systems, Lurk could never figure out what he did the first time.

In all the years of its existence, The Citadel only had one group of enemy players make it to the fifth floor. And of that group, only one survived to make it that far. That unfortunate soul had the privilege of meeting the Leviathan. It had been a very short encounter.

After what felt like hours enjoying the swim with the largest denizen of Black Sky, Harmony slowed to a meditative pace. Then for a while she floated still once again with the Leviathan rotating in a ring of impenetrable might. There was still so much work to be done establishing their foothold in the new world, and adapting The Citadel to the new rules of its existence. Harmony grabbed a trailing fin and worked her way up to the Leviathan's head and rubbed it affectionately. Sensing the desire of his Supreme Being, the gentle giant dipped his snout down and lifted Harmony up. With the Leviathan's might, he ascended through his home, acting as an express aquatic elevator for his tiny Queen.

On her ascent through the fifth floor, Harmony passed by the Mystic's Reef. Lurk laid personal claim to the majority of the Citadel's architecture. Harmony had made the third, and done most of the interior decorating of the ninth. The fifth, with its reef wall painted with such a vibrancy of coral, fish, mantas, sharks, and a hundred other examples of fantastical undersea life was a masterpiece. And it had been the personal project of Woodsolution for a good year. He was always a selfless friend, and only every asked for his guildmate's help in gathering missing pieces to complete the masterpiece.

And that work showed.

Harmony's throat felt thick, as her smile grew wide enough to bring forth tears. Tears that were whisked away immediately, yet she could not help herself. She watched Sawtooth Sneaks dance among leafy fronds of bio luminescent kelp. Schools of Cheepers darted through waving tentacles of giant anemone. Blastnut Crabs and gargantuan Snapper Squid foraged through the shelves of pastel coral. Before, all the creatures were programmed with simple artificial Boolean logic engines. Generating random numbers and flitting through preset behaviors.

False was now true. The facsimile had become imbued with blessed life even as an old world died. No less a miracle than an actual oil and canvas painting becoming animate.

Harmony breached the water's surface and felt so lifted she may have floated away. Her chauffeur drifted right up to bump into the only dry ground of the entire floor. She stepped off the snout of the Leviathan onto the small landing. Water rushed off the massive back of the Guardian as it moved away and dove once again. Then the Leviathan breached, flinging its front out of the water only to fall back into the massive underground lake. Spray from the performance touched even the hanging lights and stalagmites of the ceiling. Last to vanish was the tail, that waved to and fro before slipping away beneath the rippling surface.

Harmony waved back.

Her curiosity was satisfied for a time. However, no sooner had that particular desire been sated did she turn her attention to what lay above and a new interest took root.

The staircase leading up to the fourth floor from the fifth was unassuming. Stone lanterns held smoldering coals that were set into alcoves on either side of the wide stairs. Other than that, there was no ornamentation. Her wet talons plapped against the rough cut slate steps. Even though she had not set foot on the floor in many years, the woman thought she knew what to expect of her husband's creations. The level was, in its entirety designed by Lurk. From architecture, to traps, to denizens. It was an addition to The Citadel paid for by his own wages, and Harmony had let him just go wild on it. She thought she was prepared.

Perhaps, in the old world, she might have gotten away with simply being enthralled, and horrified. But not in the new one. Not with the floor of madness given unspeakable life.

In the deep, Harmony had only known protection. In the new dark, she only knew fear. There was no wind, yet a chill raked over and through her. Whispers, and what seemed like chanting was just inside the range of hearing. Every step Harmony took across the cobbled ground convinced the Scalebound that she was making a mistake. Rubbing her arms to stave off the chill that sank into her bones. Stepping from the fifth to the fourth was like moving between different dimensions.

She gazed around at the upside down cathedral ruins. Titanic blades broke through the top and bottom of the world at peculiar angles. A dim twilight suffused the floor in a ruddy haze. There were lines of Painlords and statues made to look identical to the constructs. Without her HUD, Harmony had no idea which were which. What drew her attention were the obelisks. Tall chunks of obsidian carved into helix horns that formed the focal amplifiers of the passive defensive fields of the floor. In the new world, Harmony's vision was so much sharper, and she could see new details emerging as she regarded the closest helix.

Curioser, and curioser, Harmony approached the obelisk. It was fascinating. The red glow was so pretty. The glyphs seemed just beyond her understanding. They shifted and morphed like tiny serpents. Maybe if she got closer, she could read them. It was only a few steps away. What harm was just a look?

Was her heartbeat always so loud?

Th-thump. Th-thUMP. Th-THUMP. TH-THUMP!

It became deafening. She wanted to cover her ears from the brain-splitting, deadening thud. But she could not. Harmony's arms were no longer listening. Her blood was scalding acid that seared her mind. Her skull felt encased in a net of pain dancing to a hellish tempo. Darkness encroached on her vision. Everything but the obelisk was consumed by an inky haze. She was a passenger in her own body all sense but pain and the twirling crimson glow became distant. There was a far off hissing. Like a teakettle. The Scalebound could barely hear it over the blood screeching through her brain.

Was someone screaming? Was it her?

She just needed to touch the glowing helix. That would make the noise stop. The glyphs pulsed their siren song in time with the unceasing throb of her cursed heart. She just wanted it to stop. She would do anything to make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.

_Make it stop!_

She was almost there. Close. Close. So close. Very Close. Touch it. Touch it. That will stop the pain. Stop the noise. A few miles away her fingers were almost there.

When blackness suddenly engulfed her, it was like quenching a red-hot blade in an ice bath. Cold, gentle dark enveloped her. A release valve was turned in her head and the pressurized ache drained away like pus from an infection.

"Shh... My Supreme One. Shh. It's alright." There were noises that seemed like words, yet to Harmony was just the rasp of flint scraping steel.

It sounded like... Skitharix?

Harmony tried to speak and only burbled. Cool metal was pressed to her forehead. The Guardian of the fourth floor fanned his knife fingers and covered her face as one would hood a falcon to calm them.

"Do not fret. Just breathe. I have you, stray little Jabberwocky." Skitharix wondered why his floor's defenses had affected his Lady so fiercely. Then upon seeing Harmony's swimsuit and dampness, understood that she must have turned off her Aegis of Muspelheim passives. The Supreme Being's normal immunity to psychology was tied to that job class.

Harmony felt herself pulled deeper into something that smelled of freshly tanned leather and suede. It was soft on the outside, yet she pressed against the more solid steel underneath. Supple cloth folded around her, making a protective curtain. Skitharix's voice was pitched so quietly it lacked its usual coarseness. His words were a resonant reverberation of madness chained to unbreakable will. The incensed rhythm of Harmony's chest faded, and was replaced by a musical clinking. She found it oddly beautiful in a way. Her mind's eye beheld a procession of gnomes in a mine. Her brain and senses were lying to her, and the Scalebound was drifting through a different kind of deep water.

Like a metronome fighting to keep time with the Laughing God himself, Skitharix's heart ticked a frenetic mechanical rhythm. Had he not been made of living metal, the pressure within his chest would have burst the arteries behind his eyes.

[Message]

_High Lord Lurk, your holy presence is urgently required on the fourth floor._

_Skitharix? What's wrong?_

_It is an emergency, sire. Lady Harmony is here._

[End Message]

Lurk's next step carried him onto the broken ground of the fourth floor.

He saw Skitharix immediately. The tall Guardian was hunched over someone he was keeping in a tight embrace.

Most peculiar, were the Flayers. The lesser creatures of the floor were all busily gathering the many octohedral metallic crystals that sprouted from the large outcroppings of steel that pierced the floor. The hooded Flayers were finding the most pristine crystals, polishing them, and making them into flowers. Each had a few natural levels of craftsman, and hundreds of glittering blooms were piled in a perimeter a few paces from where Skitharix stood. Every petal was a glassy lattice somehow coaxed into shape, and trimmed with the ferrous impurities of the material to give each fold a polished silver edge. Whenever one was made a harmonious ring sounded like a tranquil bell.

It was not the mighty Flesh Keeper that was the clear object of their veneration, but Harmony.

The industrious worshipers parted for Lurk by his mere presence alone. Though they did not have the levels of their floor Guardian, they formed a path for their Supreme Being, recognizing his dominion as an immutable facet of their existence. Hunched down in their robes, the Flayers grovelled into balls. Lurk was tuned with the place, even before the shift. Now, his intent was enough to shape the area and command its denizens. A thrum went through the very matrix of the floor. The Wyrmblood had rendered the level as a reflection of himself such that the air bent in time with his lungs. The surface of the obelisks crawled with runes that burned the eye in synchrony with the blood in his veins.

Lurk had given into his madness when he made the fourth floor. It had poured from him like water from an Endless Pitcher. Even in the throes of his deepest torment, the axis upon which his world turned, was her. No matter how discordant the symphony of his mind became, he always lived with a tiny Harmony in his heart of hearts. In a twisted way, the concept was reflected now.

Upon his Lord's approach, Skitharix could not bow fully, lest he jostle his precious cargo. Instead, the Guardian dipped his head as deeply as he could. Lurk spared the Eldritch Construct a passing glance and lifted his wife protectively into his arms.

***BSL***

When Harmony returned to her senses, she was laying in bed, tucked with towels and blankets. Someone was patting her face.

"Woah, holy shit." Were her first words spoken. Harmony blinked a few times as her brain got her equilibrium back in order.

"Harmony, sweetheart, are you okay? How do you feel? Are you in any pain?" Lurk rattled off, tail lashing in agitation and worry.

"Whew, that was a doozy. Honestly, no. I don't feel any pain at all. It's like... That feeling you get after having a bad migraine? Shit, is that what the insanity debuff feels like?" Harmony rubbed her eyes and rotated her neck, feeling the joints pop and crunch in release.

"I thought I was gonna lose you there for a second. That scared the shit outta me." Lurk pressed his forehead against hers, needing to affirm that she was there with him.

"Oh honey you're not gonna lose me. My goodness. I didn't even take damage. It was my own fault for not turning my passives back on." She casually brushed off the experience. Though it was definitely not something she was eager to experience again, the Scalebound held no fear of death.

"No, no I'm sorry. I should have thought of the fourth floor. Should have realized that-" Centuries of dread creased Lurk's scaly features.

Harmony quieted her husband's ramblings with a palm on his cheek. She leaned forward and gave his snout a quick flick with her long tongue. She watched the worry gradually melt off his visage.

"Remember, sugar, I'm tougher than I look. Especially now." She gave a wry smile. "My avatar is a fucking tank, don't forget. You're the squishy caster now." Her smile turned up higher even as sorrow filled her draconic eyes. She rubbed her thumb along his jaw. "I think I understand better now. You never stop surprising me, darling. You know that? Even after all our years together."

Lurk understood instantly what she meant.

"I wish you didn't. That part of me isn't something I'm proud of." He averted his gaze and rested a claw on her thigh.

"But it's a part of you. So I love it just the same." Harmony answered faster than Lurk could argue.

Heaving a heavy, knowing sigh, Lurk placed his palm over his lover's hand.

"Why do you love me so much?"

"Oh no. This isn't about you. This is about me, and you're stuck with me, mister. No backing out now." Harmony waggled a finger and smiled. Lurk chuckled and gave her nose a lick this time. "Alright, alright, shoo. I'm done with you. I'm gonna get dressed, then get something to eat. I'm starving."

Grinning, Lurk knew then that his wife was going to be fine.

"Okay, hun. I love you very much. I'll be in the library okay?"

"Alright, sweetheart." She answered. Lurk turned to leave and on his way out, addressed the figure hunched in the corner of their room. The Guardian had been still as a statue, having followed the couple from his floor.

"Thank you for telling me what was going on immediately, Skitharix." Lurk said in a professional tone. He blamed himself for the failure far more than he did the Guardian.

"It is your duty to tend to Lady Harmony, my Supreme One. I only wish I had sensed her presence sooner." Skitharix croaked.

Recovering his composure, Lurk teleported back to the library.

"Skitharix," Harmony spoke softly once her husband was gone.

"Yes, my Lady. Supreme and venerable Queen, goddess of the sky and the seas and-"

"Skitharix," She spoke again. A muffle clang could be heard as the Eldritch Construct snapped his metal jaw shut.

"Yes, my Lady?" He gnashed his skeletal teeth. His metal fingers were tightly interwoven and clutched to his chest.

"Come here." She spoke. Though the Guardian practically launched himself out of the corner he stood in, there was a tremble in his steps. Once at her bedside, the towering Guardian fell to his knees, shoulders stooping more forward than his usual hunch. His eyes were downcast, hidden by the hood of his flesh robes. Skitharix could not bear the shame of it all. Like a pit of tar, his mind boiled over as his thoughts became trapped in a recursive loop of doubt, fear, and self-loathing. His wretched frame was not deserving of being in her radiant presence. He was a shadow before the blinding glare that was the binary stars of his Lord and Lady.

Just as Skitharix feared his own nature would rip him into pieces, a scarlet hand cupped his hollow cheek.

With a single touch, he knew stillness.

Now that she comprehended her husband's madness better, she understood Skitharix. The Guardian was a splinter of Lurk's mind. Although expressed through a game's NPC maker, Skitharix was an honest incarnation of that concept nevertheless. Smoldering dots for eyes glanced up from beneath the hood of his robes.

"You would absolve this unworthy marionette of his sins?" One of his knife hands opened, revealing one of the crystal roses. The ring of blossoms would remain on the fourth floor as a place of worship and pilgrimage forevermore. Harmony took the flower and set it in her lap.

"Are you loyal to Black Sky?" Her smile made the words kind. She did not want to seem reproachful. Harmony held no ill will against the Guardian. It was not his fault she had blundered into the trap. If anything it reassured her that beneath the fourth floor, she and the rest of The Citadel was safe.

"Without hesitance, my Lady. Until Black Sky comes." Skitharix replied instantly, standing straighter, and ready to do carry out any order without question or regret.

"Then you are forgiven. Now shoo. There's breakfast to be conquered."

***BSL***

The morning sun streamed through sheer linen curtains. A bank of windows let light into the generous master bedroom of the guest manor in the Kadusian city-state. By the simple standards of the Kadusians, it was well furnished with a tall wardrobe, nightstands, and its own bathroom suite. It was a warm, comfortable morning. The kind that did not beg for five more minutes. It stole time away with coercive pillows and downy blankets.

Though of course part of the reason Lapua was so at home was because she had destroyed the old bed and used [Create Greater Item] to replace it with something more worthy of her station. Oaken banisters held up a canopy and privacy veils with black sheets emblazoned with the Black Sky sun.

Shifting in her bed, wakefulness leisurely worked its way through the Neverborn. Even her thoughts were warm and fuzzy, and naturally Lapua's mind drifted to her home, and her holy Lord and Lady. She wondered if they were waking up like her, snuggling in their room of The Citadel. And naturally, her wandering mind went to Lurk and Harmony perhaps participating in the adult activities that respectable married couples did in the mornings.

Lapua slept in her underwear. Frilly black underthings were all the rage for the women of The Citadel. With several tentative fingers, Lapua's hands slipped under the waistband of her panties. Drifting on and into the warmth of her core, her talented fingers went to work. All the extra digits the Neverborn was graced with let her part the top and bottom of her slit, while burying the unoccupied pairs of fingers into the petals hiding her pearl and the tightness of her lower folds. Though her bosom was small, another set of hands wiggled into the padded cups of her bra. Like a clumsy lover, she fondled and pinched the pebbled buds as she worked herself up.

Lapua imagined being sandwiched between her Supreme Beings while they made love to one another. The idea of their naked bodies rubbing on either side of her got the Neverborn hot and bothered enough to make her insides clench. Bosom to bosom with her Lady, while the mighty Lord plunged his length along Lapua's lower lips and into his wife. Lapua imagined how wet she would be, and that her leaking honey would drip down and help aid her Lord's manhood in his love making and-

Three firm knocks resounded with the weighty thunk of gauntlet on wood.

"Lady Lapua, I'm sorry to disturb you ma'am, but Captain Reese is here and is urgently requesting your presence." The hollow, metallic timber of a Silver Knight's voice breached Lapua's private time.

Disgruntled in purest clam-jammed sense, Lapua threw off the covers with her fingers still glistening with her own wetness.

"I'll be right there." She called out, her halo of psionic force appearing as she stood and with a gesture, donned her Caliber Court ensemble. She smoothed her psionic tendrils and adjusted her chestpiece in a standing mirror before heading out into the hall. Hand-painted pottery and oil paintings of previous dignitaries that had come and gone ran the length of the household wing.

The Sharpshooters were already waking up and emerging from their rooms. They greeted their expedition leader as they rubbed the night from their eyes. The few manor servants were preparing breakfast at behest of Lapua's previous instructions. The Knight who had woken her bowed at her passing. While the Silver Knights did not sleep, they did enter periods of dormancy. The Living Armor enjoyed standing in places of ornamentation along the halls of the dignitary manor, each taking a spot outside one of the five occupied rooms. Lapua had no intention of subsisting off of the city's guest house for any longer than necessary. She was confident that before long, Queen Ismeena would see the wisdom in giving Black Sky a plot of land near the palace for a proper embassy.

Lapua rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs as she walked downstairs to meet the Captain in the foyer of the manor. The Neverborn trailed a pair of hands down the wrought iron bannister of the stairs. No doubt the twirling bars of iron and carved wooden rails were seen as opulent in the Kadusian culture.

"Good morning, Captain Reese." Lapua called as she crossed an expensive rug meant as a gift for the Queen carelessly left behind by the last diplomat who had taken up residence there. The Neverborn pretended she was happy to have her morning personal time interrupted as she approached the man. He had on a fresh tabard trimmed in Kadusia's colors, unstained from the bloodshed of the previous day and a clean blade in his scabbard. Under the crook of one arm was his helmet, and in the other...

"What is your Lord trying to pull!" The man launched into his tirade the moment Lapua came to a halt in front of him, gesturing angrily with a crimson sphere. "My daughter-"

Before he could get another word out, Warren's voice stopped working and in another blink he was staring down the barrel of a magelock firearm.

One of Lapua's right hands held the weapon while the other made a show of slowly cocking the hammer. An ignited match was held in the jaws of the hammer, shaped like a snarling dragon poised to fall.

"Before you say anything you might regret, Captain, let's sit down for tea." It was not a request, or suggestion. And Reese was under no delusions what would happen to him if he did not comply. Lapua's halo flashed in warning in time with the psionic pulse that ran through the Neverborn's eyes. With a psychic lock on his voice, Reese could only nod.

"Good. I'm glad we can discuss this like civilized individuals." Lapua raised her gun, and gave a smile that made it clear she would be only so tolerant of flippancy. Turning, she dropped the firearm, and the magelock vanished from existence before it hit the floor. Warren dutifully followed behind the Neverborn as she led them to the dining room, knuckles white around the red orb clenched in his fist.

Taking her place at the head of the table, she invited the Captain to sit on her left. The Sharpshooters sat down on the opposite end, leaning their rifles against the table at their places. Male and female Demi-Claws all wore their vests and chest rigs festooned with ammo pouches. They did not need boots to cover their wide talons but did wear pants in various blends of olive and grey. The Sharpshooters were soon all enjoying their first meal of the day, pilling eggs and bacon from platters in the middle of the long banquet table.

A Silver Knight dutifully poured Lapua and Warren both cups of tea. One of her chitinous hands gripped the saucer while the other looped through the handle of the porcelain cup. Lapua held out her other hands to the Captain. Reluctantly, Warren set his helmet on the polished tabletop and plopped down on the offered chair.

"Let's see what's got you in such a tizzy, Mister Reese." The Neverborn took a sip of her tea as she spoke.

Very grudgingly, Warren set the crimson orb in Lapua's expectant palms. The Neverborn spun the sphere in her digits, immediately recognizing the object.

"A Bloodgem! Where did you get this? I thought your best mage could only cast fourth or fifth tier magic?" She set down her tea to add honey as a sweetener even as her other hands made the orb turn and spin.

"During the..." Warren cleared his throat. "When your Lord and Lady came into the city the other day, one of those giants picked up my daughter along the way and gave her this." Warren gestured to the crimson sphere. He shifted uncomfortably and left his cup steaming on the table.

"You have a very headstrong child, don't you? You should feel honored. The Painlords were all hand-crafted by High Lord Lurk. To be given something by one of them, your Thea must have done something impressive. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if the Painlord was impressed by her bravery, and thought to give her something it believed would protect her. Humans are so fragile after all."

"I didn't tell you her name was Thea." Warren's skin crawled a little as he stared at the unmoving lips of the woman.

"You did. Just not how you wanted to." The ghost of a smile graced Lapua Magnum's pale visage as she took another sip of her drink. With their keen hearing, the Demi-Claw Sharpshooters at the other end of the table chuckled quietly.

"So... What is that exactly? What does it do?" Reese asked, not wishing to linger on the woman's alien nature too long.

"Well, in order to cast [Blood Lightning], special charges must be gathered and then expended. They do expire over time. Although a certain number of those charges per day can be made into Bloodgems that have no expiration or casting cost. They're quite harmless unless you choose to use it, mister Reese. Right now, it's little more than its name suggests. A gem. It was given, so you should keep it, Captain. Who knows? It might bring you good fortune." Lapua suggested without ill intent.

She held out the Bloodgem, tapping its glassy surface with her off-hand. While Reese did not find the Neverborn's nonstop fidgeting as annoying, it was certainly distracting. He took back the orb with the wariness of a man staring at a flesh-eating spider. Warren knew better than to insult the Black Sky representative by refusing the gift.

"I know your shift starts soon, Captain, so I won't keep you. Is there a good place to learn about this world? A gathering point of adventurers or something similar?" Lapua's demeanor was friendly. She wanted to do her part in establishing favorable diplomatic footing in the city.

"Adventurers? Well, I'd recommend the Seeker's Hall. Seekers travel all around the continent. Many of them don't belong to any nation either. Security risk if you ask me, letting in anyone from the Heymon Empire just because they claim to be a Seeker." Reese folded his arms over his chest. "You can find the Kadusian branch at the city center in the market square."

Warren stood, returning his helmet to its place under his arm. Although he was not completely reassured, the man did not have any reason to believe the Neverborn was lying to him. He slipped the Bloodgem into a drawstring bag tied to his belt and gave a shallow bow. Respectful, yet reserved.

"I apologize if my tone earlier was abrasive, Lapua Magnum. I am still grateful for what Black Sky did for Kadusia. As a father, the safety of my child is always at the forefront of my mind, and that made me act rashly. I hope you forgive a moments choler."

"I respect anyone willing to admit when their passion got the better of them. What matters is if we are able to learn from our mistakes. There's no shame in putting your family first, Captain. Black Sky Legion is my family. And there is nothing I would not do for them."

"'Till Black Sky comes!" One of the Sharpshooters crowed.

"Ra!" The expedition team echoed. Reptilian fists thumped the table in a ring of silverware and the standing Silver Knights rapped their gauntlets against breastplates or shields. Lapua raised her cup of tea with a wide smile. Reese tried and failed to hide balking from the passionate display of loyalty. Not because it was off-putting. No, it was the ferocity of the declaration that had the experienced man impressed again by Lapua.

"I take my leave, then. Good day to you, miss Lapua, and good fortune for the rest of you." Reese bowed and turned to march off to his post.

***BSL***

"Excuse me, miss?" The portly man with rosy cheeks asked. A brown tunic and stained apron made him the spitting image of a humble street cook.

"Yes?" Lapua turned to regard the human who had addressed her. Floating in a psionic grip, the notebook and quil the Neverborn was using to keep notes continued to scratch out words even as she paused. She and her entourage had meandered their way through Kadusia until finally ending up in the market square at around midday.

"Are you a part of that Black Sky Legion everyone's been talkin' about?" Having worked up his bravery, the middle-aged man had spoken before realizing just how tall the Demi-Claws were or how majestic the winged helms of the Silver Knights were. Now, face to face with Lapua Magnum and her psychic halo glistening in the bright sun, it was too late to back down.

"Yes, we are." The Neverborn leaned forward with interest.

"Here, these are fer you." The man held out a half dozen wooden skewers with roasted strips of golden chicken. Lapua took the treats, kept one for herself, then gave the rest to the Sharpshooters. On their best behavior, the Demi-Claws took one skewer each from the bundle and passed it on.

"Thank you, kind sir. My Lord saw your people's plight from afar, and could not sit by while your city suffered. While I'm in the city, he's told me to give aid once more should a similar situation arise. You can rest easy, knowing you're under his protection."

Feeling any other words spoken would simply be him fumbling, the portly man thanked Lapua one more time and hurried back to his stall. With her finery and very heteromorphic appearance, most assumed the Neverborn to be a noble from some faraway land. This assessment was not far from wrong. Between the silver of her armor, wealthy look of her Caliber Court dress, and armed soldiers, the average citizens of Kadusia were too intimidated to approach. Other than the street vendor, the city guards were the ones who gave the warmest greetings. Ones that had been on the walls that day, and seen what Black Sky had done for them.

Taking a thoughtful bite from her roasted chicken, Lapua continued to compile observations as she walked to her goal. No detail was too mundane. Races, mannerisms, goods on display, the spices in the chicken skewer, street layout and building fronts. What prey hunters were hauling or hawking. A hundred tidbits that formed the mosaic of life in Kadusia.

Seeker's Hall was one of many that ringed the market. It was the only one with a huge lot of land sectioned off from the city park however. Having gleaned an image of the place from Reese. Lapua finished her treat, headed towards the door, and entered the establishment.

The common room of the Seeker's Hall was a large gathering area for those adventurous souls who came to roost. At least in the city-states, the Seekers were a respectable, and respected bunch. Tables and chairs of all shapes and sizes for different parties and party members filled most of the available space. One side was a fully furbished and functional bar, while stairs led to an upstairs of simple rooms for rent. Opposite the bar, an entire wall was plastered with hundreds of job postings. Some old, some new, some with crude illustrations, and some with a lot of zeros attached. At the back was a long service desk, staffed by workers dutifully handling the many bureaucratic functions of the organization. They wore blue doublets over white long-sleeved shirts. The men wore black pants, while the woman had ankle-length skirts.

Lapua marched straight up to the counter with her entourage right on her heels. They looked the part of a mercenary group set for battle. The Sharpshooters had their rifles slung, but the Silver Knights of course carried their cross-spears proudly and tower shields with the gleaming Black Sky sun. Though not crowded, many colorful adventuring parties sat around conversing, drinking, or perusing the wall of posters. Every head turned to watch the newcomers enter.

There was a kindly looking human woman that spoke up at their approach. Her brunette hair hung down across her shoulder in a pony-tail and glasses hung from her neck on a delicate silver chain.

"Welcome to the Kadusian Seeker's Hall! Are you here to open a contract?" The woman behind the counter gave her well rehearsed greeting. She took Lapua and her party in stride. The woman had seen individuals of dozens of different races, nationalities, and dress. While the desk worker had not met a Neverborn before, she was not the strangest the experienced contract coordinator had laid eyes on.

"Well, I was told by Captain Reese that your establishment was a good place for knowledge of the world." The agent of Black Sky stated openly.

"Correct!" The bubbly receptionist bounced on the balls of her feet.

"Tell me about the Seekers." Lapua's notebook carried on dutifully as it was dictated mental notes.

The woman cleared her throat and adjusted her glasses.

"Many call us adventurers. We fulfill contracts for a variety of clients. We hunt monsters, find rare alchemy ingredients, protect caravans, map uncharted lands, and mount research expeditions as well. The Seekers pride themselves on being the shield of the people first and foremost. We try not to involve ourselves in the politics of the empires or city-states. As such, we have Halls in nearly every major settlement of the land. Though we ask our members to put the lives of the innocent before any personal or political agenda, a Seeker is never under any obligation to go against the will of their homeland or nation."

"No one knows more about the lands abroad than the Seekers!" The receptionist boasted. "Though if you chose to join us, you would be given direct tutelage by our most experienced members." The Seekers were always on the lookout for talent to add to their roster.

"Would we earn currency recognized by this land?" Lapua asked.

"Of course, successfully fulfilling contract is how many of our Seekers make their living." The receptionist swept out an arm to indicate the job board.

"Is there an entry fee for joining?" Was the Neverborn's followup.

"No, but there is a test."

"A test, huh?" Behind Lapua, Demi-Claws gave toothy grins while Silver Knights conversed and nodded amongst one another.

The woman was a seasoned recruiter, and recited her orientation from memory.

"Aspiring Seekers are not allowed to go on missions until they have proven capable of handling themselves in potentially dangerous situations. Junior Seekers are apprenticed under True Seekers or above until at least two different mentors approve of their promotion to Adepts. Now, if your tests go well, I can get you started as Adepts. That is the lowest rank allowed to take on contracts. Only through successfully completing contracts are you able to move up, and only Adept level contracts will be available to you. A committee of higher ranking Seekers will be convened and vote, moving you up to True Seeker, and Master Seeker. Only the most venerated individuals make it to the rank of Wise Seeker. They lead us, but few in a generation have the skill to climb those heights."

"Am I required to follow the command of someone with a higher rank?" Lapua's disembodied voice was neutral, however, it would be a deal-breaker for her.

"No ma'am, though I would urge you to heed the wisdom of the experienced, no Seeker may order another Seeker, even if they are of a lower rank. The rules of being a Seeker are simple: Do not harm the innocent. Do not steal from your fellow Seekers. Never abandon a contract without just cause. And observe the laws of the land."

"A teaching of the holy Tetragrammaton of my Lord is to not harm those who stand by in innocence. Your policies are reasonable. Very well, as representatives of Black Sky Legion, I would like to join the Seekers." Lapua laid a pair of hands over her heart and nodded.

The receptionist positively beamed with pride, quickly fetching ten paper applications from beneath the desk. During the whole exchange, a gaggle of Seekers and other onlookers had gathered around, listening in or admiring the craftsmanship of the Silver Knight's armor. Lapua waved a single hand, filling out all ten forms simultaneously using writing implements held in telekinetic grips. It was not unusual for potential Seekers to be illiterate, so it was no problem for Lapua to write in the information for her away team. She was eager to start.

"Alright ma'am, if you and your party would like to follow me this way, we'll begin your test." The woman gave the forms a quick review and walked over to a wide set of double doors that led out behind the hall.

The Seekers had occupied their particular place in Kadusia for well over a hundred years, and had inherited their building and generous plot of prime land from a now defunct woodcutters guild from the past. Its primary use was training and assessing old and new Seekers alike. There were straw targets, dummies, wrestling pits with sand, sparring circles, and even an obstacle course. The worker turned to address the Neverborn and her dutiful soldiers. Seeker and petitioner alike had followed Lapua and her squad out into the yard to watch, and formed a semi-circle of curious onlookers. Even if they had not yet heard of Black Sky, it was clear that the foreigners meant business.

"As party leader, it's tradition for you to go first, miss Magnum. There are three tests. Strength, agility, and skill." Now acting as testing coordinator, the brunette woman read Lapua's name off her application. "The first test is strength." She pointed to a series of rocks, lined up in a row of increasing size.

"Boulders? Aha! How quaint." Lapua sauntered up to the row of rocks and looked at the largest, about fifteen feet of stone. Squaring up, the Neverborn put her left foot forward and drew her right hands back to her side into fists.

"Ma'am, the test of strength is-"

"Ha!" Launching a straight hook, her knuckles impacted the boulder. Every bit of stone that lay above ground exploded. A shower of dust and fragments spread in a cone in the direction of the blow. Chunks fell to the earth even as the trees behind the former bolder were revealed to have stone shrapnel embedded in their trunks.

"The test... Of... Oh." The poor testing coordinator sputtered. The woman's glasses hung askew on the bridge of her nose from the shockwave given off by Lapua's punch. Everyone in the crowd was stunned to silence even as polite applause rose from the Sharpshooters and Silver Knights.

"Sorry, what? Was I not supposed to do that?" The Psion turned.

"Well... you were just meant to lift the heaviest stone you, uh, could... You know... Lift? That rock was part of the test of agility."

"Whoops, I got excited." Lapua's halo lit up and the chitinous hands that had destroyed the stone were wrapped in arcane circles as she summoned her telekinetic power. With a flick of her wrist, the intact, bottom half of the boulder was exhumed. Using her other bifuricated arm, she pulled the pulverized chunks into the hole left behind. Flipping the rock over, she set the flat side down on the bed from its own gravel pieces. At least two magic casters in the crowd passed out from shock.

Doing her absolute best to stay on script, the receptionist moved on.

"The second part of the test of strength is arm wrestling. Do we have any volunteers?" When unsurprisingly not a single soul spoke up, the testing coordinator muttered to herself. "I'm just going to put down 'passed'." She scribbled on a sheet of paper and lifted her chin. "Next is the test of agility." The woman pointed to the small obstacle course of balance logs and tangles of metal bars that ran up to the newly refurbished climbing rock.

Without a word Lapua bounded forward quick as a flash. Nimble feet seemed to barely touch the ascending poles. Half-skirt flaring behind her, the Neverborn leapt like a gymnast between the metal bars meant to slow the runner, forcing them to climb over or through them. Then she spring-boarded from the final pole to the tall rock she had accidentally demolished earlier. Was it entirely necessary to add a double backflip to her final dismount off the boulder? No. Was it worth seeing the collective jaws of the crowd hit the ground again? Yes. Once again, courteous applause came from her squad. This time a few of the gawkers did join in.

"Lastly, the test of skill. Could I have two volunteers this time?" Also greatly impressed, the kindly worker woman announced. The mass of people moved on to the training circle marked with a ring of gravel. Lapua did not need to be a mind reader to know what needed to be done as she stepped into the circle. Two Seekers did step up this time.

One was a stout, olive-skinned man. And the other was an older, very serious looking woman. Both were leaders of their own groups, and were courageous enough to take the measure of the foreigner. Lapua squared off against the two with wooden shields and training swords they had gotten from a rack set out expressly for such purposes. The Disciple of the Tetragrammaton had no weapons, and stood with her four palms turned out. She gestured for the pair to come at her.

The two were clever and their first blows came from both chest and knee level. She weaved between them like a ballet dancer, one leg lifted while she bent backwards, wooden blades coming within an inch of the Neverborn's thigh and chest plate. While the woman backed off, the man followed through with a swing of his shield, aiming at Lapua's middle. With a swish of her skirt, she twirled out of her bend with laughable ease.

In a bid to do something other than hit empty air, the Seekers both swung to layer their blows on top of one another..

The Neverborn caught the descending wooden swords in a cross grip with the curved pommel of a magelock that materialized in one of Lapua's many chitinous hands. A quick flick sent the training weapons flying. Every eye followed the sudden motion, even the two with their hands still stinging. An ignited match struck a magical primer and an arcane discharge reduced the training weapons to kindling.

Just like the other two tests, things were over in a flash with the member of Black Sky's Caliber Court as the incontrovertible victor. This time, the whole crowd clapped their hands and whistled praise. Lapua banished her spent magelock and honored her opponents with a dignified bow. The two could do little other than blink and return the gesture.

"That concludes your test, miss Magnum. I'm very, very certain that you'll be given Adept." Declared the coordinator. "Since your-" The training coordinator glanced down at the forms she was holding. "Uh, Sharpshooters are put down as rangers, we'll have them take the test of skill for archery in lieu of the others. Are those their... Bows?"

"The Type-Ninety-Nine is sacrosanct under the holy Tetragrammaton, and much better than any bow." Lapua vaunted the work of her creator with perfect seriousness as she rejoined her squad.

"Then please stand behind the white line and pick a target." With practiced efficiency, the Seeker worker was happily moving the trials right along.

The away party understood that their actions would affect how Black Sky Legion was perceived by the Kadusians. Their leader, the esteemed Three-Thirty-Eight Lapua Magnum had set the bar.

The Sharpshooters took their place at the line of painted rocks. They readied up, weapons seated against their shoulders, but pointing down in a forward stance. The first one up loaded two rounds, while the middle three each slotted one, and the last chambered nothing, leaving their bolt open. Raising his weapon, the Sharpshooter on the left put irons on the chosen target and pulled the trigger.

Many among the crowd flinched and covered their ears at the air splitting crack of the rifle. As a group, the Demi-Claws had picked a thick coniferous tree with a bullseye daubed in a bright blue pigment. The armor-piercing-incendiary was useful for a variety of reasons over the simpler steel core high-velocity penetrators. Those with quick enough vision would have spotted the screaming spark of the glowing tracer as it thudded into the tree. Almost everyone saw the trunk buckle slightly, and the shower of splinters that scattered from the back of the tree.

Ejecting the spent casing, the Sharpshooter chambered the next round, then pulled the bolt back a second time. Extractors sent the live round flying in a flash of brass right into the waiting palm of the next Demi-Claw in line. The shooter placed the gifted bullet into their waiting internal magazine, closed their bolt, aimed, fired, and repeated the action, sending their own extra round spinning through the air for the next. And the next. And the next. Then the last finished the chain. As a squad, the Sharpshooters tamped the butts of their rifles into the ground at the conclusion of their drill.

With the last bullet away, the tree cracked under its own weight from the line of holes punched horizontally through it and toppled over with a crash. The stump smoldered a bit from the fiery nature of the rounds shot at it as the onlookers stared.

"Good work, you do Lady Wrath and Lady Ruin proud with your accuracy." Lapua offered up as praise as she added her applause to the Living Armor's metallic clamor.

"And laaaast of the last, and I'm certain not least, the Silver Knights? Looking at their armor, I think we can safely skip the test of strength and agility straight on to skill."

Never to be outdone themselves, one of the Living Armor stepped up to represent the group.

"Any warrior wishing to protect their companions must face situations where they are outnumbered. Please, pit four of your best against me." In the spirit of Legion himself, the knight planted the end of his spear into the ground and stepped into the training circle with only his shield. His fellow knights crashed spear hafts against shields in salute to their brother.

Since it was not going to be up against Lapua, there were several willing warriors who came forth.

Much like the pair who had fought the Neverborn, they all gathered training weapons from a rack and tried to coordinate their attacks once the test began with all of them in the circle. The Silver Knight never attacked on his own. Only defended, or countered. The Living Armor was an implacable wall, unmoved by the heaviest or most rapid of blows. Though he did maneuver, utilizing the training circle's limitation to get the four tripping over themselves to get to him. Seekers called out encouragement to their fellows in the ring.

After a few minutes of nonstop assault, the four lay panting and heaving from exertion. Fingers deadened from laying strike upon strike against unforgiving metal. And the Silver Knight stood proud with his winged helm catching the light from the evening sun. Striving to be the example set by his Lord Legion and Queen Harmony, the knight went around and helped each Seeker to their feet before exiting the ring.

There was a round of cheers, and with the promise of drinks after the magnificent showing, everyone headed back inside the hall.

"Your group is... Astonishing, ma'am. You yourself are incredible, miss." The worker clutched her stack of papers to her chest as she walked beside Lapua. "I'm so glad you've decided to join us. I know it might be a bit premature of me, but please don't be shy about picking some contracts to start off with. I'll submit them and all your results to the lead Seeker. I believe you're going to do great things."

Enjoying the physical and mental chattering full of ripe gossip and knowledge, Lapua knew that tale of their exploits would travel fast, along with the name Black Sky.

"I hope I can continue to do my High Lord proud with my work." The Neverborn clasped her many hands together as she followed the coordinator back to the reception desk. While Lapua Magnum finalized the details of their entry into the Seekers, she sent two of her party to look through the contracts. Even though the job board was in another language, a simple psionic charm let one Sharpshooter and one Silver Knight read through the listings with ease.

They returned as just as the Psion finished a last couple formal processes to begin accepting contracts.

"Lady Magnum, we believe we found a trend." The Silver Knight said.

"A trend, eh? What are your thoughts?" Lapua responded.

"It looks like there are numerous postings for escorts through the mountain pass The Citadel now overlooks." Stroking a claw thoughtfully over her chin, the Demi-Claw summarized their findings.

"Now that the Bandit King is dead and his mob destroyed, there's going to be a power vacuum in the mountain outlaw tribes." Lapua stated, considering the far reaching consequences for the surrounding lands that were affected by the former Bandit King's territory.

"Without a leader telling them who they can and can't attack, it's going to be like wading through a nest of hornets to get over that pass." The Knight shook his head at the deplorable state.

"With the city's armies away fighting that empire, there's no one to capitalize on the opening and pacify the up and coming wild lords wanting to carve their piece out of the trade route." Crossing her arms over her chest, the Sharpshooter glanced back at the job board covered in more escort missions than there were Seekers to fulfill them.

"This keeps turning into a better and better opportunity for us. According to preliminary wyvern scout reports, beyond the mountains there's at least two large port cities on the ocean-"

A commotion arose as a loud and boisterous party barged their way into the Seeker's Hall. All swagger and self-assured smiles. Strutting right between Lapua and the reception desk, the apparent leader acted like the Neverborn did not exist.

"I've got a contract to turn in." The man announced with all the pomp and entitlement that his noble father had bought for him. It went well with his gaudy jeweled sword and gem-spun cloak.

"I'll be right with you, True Seeker. I'm helping our newest member with her first contracts." The receptionist tried to politely motion for the man to move. Instead he turned, as if seeing Lapua for the first time.

"You demi-human trash are worthless as adventurers." The large man attempted to use his mass and the forcefulness of his presence to intimidate the diminutive Lapua out of his way.

"You better back off before she breaks you in half, Lomar." Called the dark skinned man who had dueled Lapua during her earlier test.

"I don't understand this man. Can someone translate stupid?" Setting her hands on her hips, the Neverborn shook her head as the Seeker grew increasingly agitated.

One of her Sharpshooters called out even as Silver Knights moved to surround the Seeker and his group.

"I believe this man is attempting to insult you, Lady." Said the Demi-Claw who had been in the middle of her report.

"Oh, is that it? Well he's doing a very poor job then." Lapua waved both dismissively, and as though there were a foul odor in the air.

True Seeker Lomar saw the symbol on the shields.

"Oh, I know who you are now. Tch, I heard your little merc group thinks they're hot shit after dusting a few rowdy bandits. If you ask me this Black Sky isn't-"

Whatever else the man was going to say was cut off as Lapua grabbed him by the mouth and throat, lifting him bodily into the air. The man let out a muffled shout of shock and surprise. His first instinct was to beat against the thin limb holding him aloft, but it was like trying to beat adamantium with his fists. Slender fingers tightened in threat, the bones of his jaw creaking under the strain. Panicked eyes darted around, looking for help even as his boots kicked inches from the floor.

Yet no aid was forthcoming.

All around, every living witness to the events excluding the Demi-Claws and Silver Knights, were frozen. Not a soul except for Lapua's entourage even twitched, locked in place. The Sharpshooters looked on and sneered while the Living Armor mocked the man. One pointed their spear right at the man.

"Teach him some manners, Lady Magnum."

Chuckling, Lapua waggled a pair of index fingers.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. This simply will not do. I might have been tolerant of your words if they had only been directed at me. That Captain Reese fellow has worth. Has use. My Supreme Ones would be displeased if I killed him. But you're just a dumb animal. And now, as a reward for your tongue, you get to be nothing at all. My Lord instructed me to not use anything over seventh tier, but I think I know just the thing. [Terminate]."

From the point of contact, the large man began to dissolve. He had enough time to give a muffled scream into Lapua's palm, before the flesh of his entire head was consumed, leaving only a charred skull, then that turned into blackened dust. A second later, the rest of the body followed suit. Like a surgeon, Lapua then excised the memory of the man ever existing from every witness still frozen in stasis from her mind lock.

The kindly Seeker's Hall worker blinked a few times.

"Hm?" She pondered, looking around as if confused, then saw Lapua waiting patiently. "Oh! My dearest apologies, miss Magnum, my mind got away from me there for a moment."

"Tut, tut, there's no need to worry deary. It happens to the best of us." Though her lips did not move with her words, they did curl up into a wry smile. Behind her, the new leader of the adventuring party waited his turn to talk to the Seeker representative.

"Yes, now I remember! You were selecting from our jobs board. Have you decided where you'd like to begin?"

"Yes, I've perused your selection and would like one of each, please."


	7. Pages and Responsibility

The grand library of The Citadel was a calm nucleus nestled into a pocket of the bottom floor. Being there quieted the restless worry that threatened to unravel the King. Harmony's near brush with danger kindled the only thing he had ever feared. An old, familiar dread.

Losing her.

Lurk took a deep breath, letting the scent of the great library permeate his soul. It was a balm to him. A blessed relief. Ice water on a burn. Its aroma was an incense made from essence of dry ink, spine binding glue, and just a hint of wood polish. The many blazing hearths were all full of Evercedar, the logs replenishing themselves even as they burned. His acute senses could detect the many different ages of the books like a vineyard master walking his storage cellars, able to discern vintage by nose alone.

In a ritual the draconic man had perfected over years of working his way up the corporate ladder, he inhaled and held his breath. Lurk counted to four, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his claws into fists, then released the air in his lungs and loosened himself. Inhale, count to four, exhale. Through will and resolve, he centered himself. Even in his new body, the motions were familiar. Lurk was glad that he had devoted so much time to perfecting control of his Wyrmblood avatar.

_ I need to remember I'm not here for pleasure. I'm here for a purpose._

Even as he affirmed the directive to no one but himself, Lurk could not resist the need to at least look around. Literature was a course through schooling that Lurk hated to take, and loved only in retrospect. He was reminded of this as he took in the sight just as he had the scent.

He had teleported just inside the threshold.

From the doors, the wings of the library radiated outward in sweeping stacks of shelves that stretched to the vaulted ceiling three levels above. Wrought iron spiral stairs led up to the second and third layer of walkways and bookshelves. Elegant banisters and walkways criss-crossed the cavernous space. A variety of reading areas interspaced the walls of books. Stuffed chairs, sofas, and Darksteel cafe ensembles huddled by the many crackling hearths. On the ground floor were neat rows of workstations, each with their own spread of writing tools and blank paper.

In one of their many bids to be the premier online service, YGGDRASIL had copies of every written work in the public domain, and even a small shop of digital work for purchase. A couple gigs of compressed words were nothing compared to the many terabytes of data dedicated to monster spawn algorithms.

Every shelf was filled to bursting with books. Enough written word to occupy a dozen lifetimes. Lurk recalled making the first floor, then typing in the command to automatically fill the shelves, only for the books to actually explode as the physics simulator attempted to have multiple objects occupy the same place. It was one of the only instances where his game had stuttered from all the loose pages flying everywhere. After he built the second layer, the same thing happened, only the books rained down from higher. Once the last level was in place everything sorted itself out.

Aside from the firing range, it was one of Lurk's favorite places. He could get lost in a comfortable seat and a compelling tale. The advantage of being in a game was always not having to worry about cramping up from sitting for too long. Though now, the library was Lurk's to enjoy with the tactile feedback of a real book in his hands. Nothing beat the taste of a fine cup of hot cocoa or iced tea whilst losing oneself in the depths of another world.

The irony was not lost on the Wyrmblood.

Past the threshold was a wide mahogany reception desk. Silkeena the Drider was the librarian of Cognitio and occupied the anatomically compatible seat behind the circular counter. Though she was the lone custodian of tens of thousands of books, the spider woman was easily capable of handling her duties. A vintage jade-glass shrouded banker's lamp spilled light across a sprawling clutter of leather bound ledgers. Different writing implements held down sheaves of parchment and towering stacks of books formed buttresses for Silkeena's tiny fortress of ink and paper.

The Drider looked up from the tome she was studying on her desk and adjusted the circular glasses up her slim nose to better see the new arrival. Though she wondered how she missed the front door opening. Upon seeing who it was, the spider-lady nearly fell from her special chair.

"High Lord Lurk!" Even exclaiming her joy, Silkeena's words barely rose above a whisper. The Drider inclined her head, snow white hair spilling across lilac skin. Even her movements were muffled by layers of dusky robes draped from the librarian's shoulders, waist, and abdomen. "Welcome to Cognitio, most venerable Lord. What service may I provide? My breadth of knowledge is yours to command."

Lurk smiled. He could not help himself. Silkeena had been another joint creation between Harmony and himself. Just as Woodsolution had his affinity for oceans and forests, the husband and wife duo of Black Sky Legion enjoyed the many creepy crawly things of their previous lives.

Other than abstaining from his cuirass and greatcoat, Lurk wore his usual ensemble. His talons clicked and tail trailed across the polished marble floor. Its reflective luster made Cognitio seem much larger than it already was and a distorted twin of the Wyrmblood followed every step. He stopped before the sprawling desk and rested a hand on its lacquered top.

"Hello, Silkeena, I'm glad to see you well." Lurk was certain that he would never tire seeing the inhabitants of The Citadel living and thriving.

The Drider hid herself behind the sleeve of her robes, her cheeks blooming with a deep magenta blush. Finding the shy display absolutely adorable, Lurk still had a job to do.

"I need atlases for Earth, the nine realms of YGGDRASIL, and... Hm. I suppose any other maps that have accurate coastlines. Also anything on the myths and legends of YGGDRASIL. Possibly Norse myths as well." The Wyrmblood rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

"Yes, of course. Your will be done. Is there a specific direction for your research? It might help narrow down the criteria of your search, High Lord."

From his inventory, Lurk retrieved the map provided by Queen Ismeena before departing Kadusia. He had only given the roll of thick vellum a cursory glance before Skitharix had called him to his wife's aid. The draconic man gave the map to Silkeena. She took it with care more suited to fragile weaving silk. The Drider unrolled the New World chart.

"See if you can find anything on this same distance scale. Use the distance between The Citadel's peak here, and Kadusia, here." Lurk tapped the two positions on the map. "As for myths and legends, let's say anything to do with... New worlds or anything concerning events post Ragnarok. I know that's got some world re-birthing in it." Pondering what other avenues he could go down, Lurk folded his arms across his black cotton shirt.

"Would you like your research material here, or delivered somehow for review at your leisure, High Lord?" Silkeena blinked over the rim of her glasses.

"One of the tables in here for now, please."

"By your command, sire." The librarian rolled up the vellum map and set off to her task. Unfolding her many legs, the Drider stood tall, hooked the sharp tips of her legs through the rails of the rolling ladders and clambered straight up the many shelves. Her form carried her vertically with ease to the vaulted ceiling before she passed out of sight to fulfill her Lord's request.

Left alone, he enjoyed another dose of fragrant cedar. He focused on the distraction, using it to drive away the past trauma encroaching on his calm.

A whispering caught Lurk's attention. The faintest susurration drifted on top of the rustling fire. The draconic man might have convinced himself he was imagining the noise if not for its continued presence. His brain was still reconciling with his new and improved senses. Walking around the reception desk, he trekked down the main hall of Cognitio. Passing wing after wing, the sound gradually coalesced into discernible words.

"'-approach sap, this time aimed at the head of the Primus Revelin, but until the batteries had had a chance to open fire and dismount most of the keep's wall guns, work could not yet begin.'"

Following the feminine voice, Lurk was shocked to find Phage and one of her Corsairs. The female Plague Elves were seated across from one another at one of the brass cafe tables. With her respirator hanging from her neck to better narrate, the Corsair was reading from a book in her lap. Phage was the very image of courtly serenity. Back straight. One wrist laid over the other. Knees together. Bare feet flat against the floor. Yet she held her stately posture with ease. The Guardian's eyes were closed and the skin around her temples was relaxed. The only motion was the faint twitching of her long ears as she listened intently.

Both were engrossed in their activity and immediately sensed Lurk's presence.

"Hello, Phage, I didn't realize anyone else was here." Tentatively greeting the pair, the Ancient Incarnate attempted to give a convincing smile.

Brass anklet jangling, Phage launched herself out of her seat to kneel before her Supreme Being. The Corsair joined her in a flurry of wyvern leather and Darksteel chainmail.

"My Lord, please, I shall leave at once if my presence is in any way disruptive to your peace of mind or focus." Phage's alabaster dress pooled around her ankles as she gave her declaration to the floor.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply you were bothersome. No, no. I was just thinking heavy things, is all. Worrying about Harmony had my mind in... Another place for a moment. That's all."

The Guardian's head snapped up, acid green iris swirling. Her brow was knit together in concern.

"What is there to worry about, High Lord?" She presented a front equal parts rage in waiting, and ferocious consternation.

"Oh, she just had some trouble on the fourth floor is all. This new world makes many things feel different, and she was unprepared for the... Intensity." He attempted to casually brush off the distress he felt as easily as Harmony had dismissed her encounter.

"Was Skitharix negligent in his holy duty?" Phage stood and the back of her chair melted to slag then crumbled into rust a second later. Fury threatened to let loose the shackles which restrained the Dread Soul's passive auras. The Corsair still kneeling beside her visibly shuddered as waves of nausea made the less powerful Plague Elf's stomach cramp and roil.

"No!" Lurk held up his claws to assuage the Guardian's wrath. "No, Skitharix was more diligent than I was. He caught Harmony before she could get hurt. He did exactly what I would have done in his position. If anything, I should have remembered how dangerous the floor was and taken precautions." There were many new, yet old things that Lurk would have to be careful with.

"High Lord, it is the duty of every living thing in The Citadel to serve you. If anything, it would be our failing for not having the forethought to protect our rulers. I am relieved to hear that my beloved Skitharix performance merited praise from you, most venerable Lord." Her benediction carried razor blades of promised reprisal. Lurk realized that the Guardian's fanaticism did not spare one from the other. He wondered how tight their scrutiny was.

Hoping to quickly change the subject, Lurk looked to the book forgotten on the table.

"_Storm of Iron_? One of my favorites." He stepped around the women, patted the kneeling Corsair on the shoulder, and picked up the paperback. He studied the cover and turned it over in his claw. The Wyrmblood gave a casual wave and mended the chair that Phage had destroyed in her fervor. Lurk did not want his Guardian blacklisted from Cognitio because of an outburst he caused.

"I enjoyed the depiction of the siege. It is a subject I would enjoy Ruin's discourse on. There are many arts of war worthy of attention." The Guardian remarked and dismissed her attendant with a gesture. The Corsair bowed deeply to her High Lord and Dread Lady before departing in a trail of green fire distinctive to the Plague Elves.

"If you enjoyed it, I might recommend _Mantle of Grey_. 'When you are lost in the howling dark, remember that it is not a void, but a mirror. One that narry a man can look into without losing himself to the truth staring back. Look for the spark. Be the fire that lights your own way.' I'm sure I'm mis-quoting that, but it has excellent portrayals of sieges with different techniques on different castles." Many other volumes sprung to mind, and Lurk had to bite his tongue to keep from blabbing like a fanboy.

"Thank you, Lord. Since it is by your word, I would have Skitharix read it to me. I'm sure he would enjoy it as well." Phage said wistfully.

"Do you enjoy having things read to you?" Lurk felt comfortable asking the more personal question since they were alone.

"I would love to read them myself, but..." Phage held up her hands, daintily encased in ivory silk gloves up to the elbow. Ash flower patterns threaded through the gloves with smoky Darksteel lace. "I'm afraid even wearing mittens of silk would not keep the pages from rotting away." The Guardian let out a demure sigh, resuming her more sedate demeanor.

Understanding slapped the Ancient Incarnate across the face.

Dreadsoul. Despoiler. Lurk had made her. He had written into her code her love of books and stories, never realizing the consequences of his actions. It had all just been a game. He had wanted to make a powerful character around a build idea that he himself wanted. Instead he had burdened a living being with his own selfish fantasy. His thoughts went to Phage, handicapped by her power. He considered Silkeena. Did the Drider truly want to be a librarian? Or was she just forced into that role by what had been decided for her. They did not choose the manner of their existence. These creatures were made by him, given life because of him. And they were his responsibility.

For a moment, Lurk felt the terrible weight of accountability. Bearing down like a millennia of strife and all the pain of living so long as to know love, loss, and have brushed death's own shoulder and known the chill of his passage. Such was that weight, that for a moment, he bore entirety of The Citadel on his shoulders. It stole the air from his lungs and blurred his sight. It laid scalding talons of guilt into each of his scales like a branding iron.

Once the second had passed his ability to breathe returned, he pulled up a chair and sat down with a two-ton sigh. He felt the ages of the Ancient Dragon Incarnate carved into his horns.

Phage started upon seeing her Lord in distress. She reached out to help him, then remembered herself and clutched her hands to her breast. The Guardian wrung her silk gloves as an outlet for her impotency.

Lurk gave a dismissive wave to forestall her worry. Clenching his claw, Lurk realized he still held the book and set it down. He did not want to test whether he could fix it as easily as he had the chair.

"Don't mind this old lizard." He chuckled, then reached up to rub his horns at the sudden soreness where they connected to his skull. Was this what his racial was doing to him? The fluff behind the Ancient Incarnate had allured Lurk. Dragons who went to war for so long their bodies wore out. So they ritually sacrificed themselves and concentrated their souls to be reborn into smaller forms that could fight and be renewed again and again. They would lose and have to re-earn their physical skills, but their knowledge and experience would persist through the lifetimes.

What did that mean for him?

_I was human. Harmony and I both were. Now we're not. Different brain chemistry. What are we outside of our memories of being human? How will we change in a month? In a year? What is this going to do to us?_ Lurk stared down at _Storm of Iron_. Then he looked to Phage, expectantly standing beside him.

"Do you resent me for making you the way you are?" Lurk reached out a claw and brushed his claw along her cheek. She was so full of life. Flush with a heart that beat and a chest that rose and fell. There was only so much data that could be crammed into one character. The transition to the new world had filled in the rest. More than just an affinity for books, but knowledge of Cognitio and a desire to seek it out illustrated how far the Guardian had come into her own.

His contact was light as a feather. Lurk traced his thumb down her jaw to the corner of Phage's mask, lost in remembrance of when he had made her. Nostalgia made the Wyrmblood forget himself.

The Plague Elf inhaled sharply, her respirator filters rattling. Her eyes widened in surprise as although she could not fathom the reason her Lord was showing her such affection, she would not protest.

Just the barest touch sent shivers from the nape of Lurk's neck to the tip of his tail. Phage had her passives turned as low as she was able. Even with his resistances, Lurk could only withstand her Dreadsoul for a short time.

_Is this the first time someone has ever touched her?_ He reflected. _I made her this way. And now she has to live with the consequences._

Lurk perhaps lingered too long without pulling on one of his masks and the tip of the claw began to smoke as Phage's control slipped a bit. Nonplussed at the minor cosmetic char, he pulled his claw back. Regarding the smoldering digit, Lurk gave a throaty laugh at his own negligence. There were a dozen ways he could have avoided the damage. Potions, equipment, or otherwise. But against his non-buffed self? Not much chance.

Having spent dozens of hours studying the hundreds of racial and job classes, the Wyrmblood had many ideas for builds. The most intriguing or esoteric ones had found shape in the Guardians of the Citadel. He never enjoyed following the meta. Even with the vast diversity available to YGGDRASIL players, certain jobs and races were considered objectively above the rest. Whenever a tournament winner published their build, copies would pop up by the dozen. Several particularly affluent members of the community would publish lists that ranked the spells and classes. Black Sky Legion belonged to the anti-meta-meta philosophy of finding unique and interesting ways to break opponents who wore their ideology of victory above creativity on their sleeve.

"High Lord!" The Guardian exclaimed. She went down on her knees once more, reached out with her silk covered hands and smothered the burning claw. Even though the crisis was averted, Phage did not let go. Her slim fingertips followed the lines that wound across the hide of Lurk's palm while she held onto his thumb. The Plague Elf pointedly studied her Lord's claw rather than look directly at him.

"I know that my classes make certain things difficult. However, I am your blade. Your Untouchable. I live to serve. No enemy will ever pass the sixth floor while I live. You are my creator. My Supreme Being. It is only through you that I was made. And only through you that I live. You could have decided for me to be a hideous blob, and I would not have complained." She did not know if her babbling would make a difference. Phage could only hope that her sincerity came through

"I wanted your beauty to match your lethality." Lurk replied and studied his Guardian. It seemed like so long ago that he had made her. He remembered the surge of inspiration when the Plague Elf race had been introduced.

Flickering light from the hearth glinted off the decorative brass barbed wire in her braid. Lurk had made a few different accessories for the Guardian. The grinning fangs of her crimson Oni mask poked between the circular respirator filters. Copper and more brass branched and split in the chemical formula for uranium hexafluoride which adorned the cheek of the mask. She had several respirators to reflect Lurk's love of intimidating facewear.

"You... Think I'm beautiful, my Lord? Truly?" Ghostly pale ears turned pink.

"I mean, yes, of course. I try not to make ugly things." He blurted.

"I don't think you've ever made anything ugly, my Lord." Phage countered, turning his claw over in her grasp. They were the miraculous tools which shaped The Citadel. Formed her like a sculptor would clay.

"Ha! I wish my first attempts at The Citadel's front door had been as beautiful as you are. Or Skitharix for that matter. He had a Mohawk for a little while."

"A Mohawk?" Phage tried to maintain her composure, yet a giggling fit slipped out. The image of her fellow Guardian with a set of hair alone was enough to keep her entertained for a long time to come. "There is nothing beyond your abilities, High Lord Lurk."

She spoke as though Lurk occupied the same importance as a fundamental law of existence.

"Oh, there's plenty I can't do. That's one of the many reasons I married Harmony." Wistful joy managed to sneak back to curl the edges of his mouth.

"Your relationship with Lady Harmony is something every inhabitant of the Citadel hold sacred, my Lord. There is not a one of us who do not see you both as perfection."

"I wouldn't go that far. We've made plenty of mistakes." Trailing off, his draconic eyes looked far into another time and place. His jaw hung slack as an old wound throbbed through a spot on his chest. Without realizing what he was doing, the Wyrmblood rubbed his free palm over the poorly aged mark on his soul.

"My Lord, there's nothing you can't tell me. If you tell me it is a secret, then it shall never leave my confidence. You have my solemn vow." Phage declared after glancing to see why her King had fallen so deathly silent.

Once goaded, the words bubbled up like froth thrown up from an ocean storm.

"We... We've lived other lives. And, the rules of that world weren't as... Fair as YGGDRASIL. Harmony and I tried to make something. However... The world did not agree. But, we made you. And now you're... And... I don't know what I'm saying. Or why I'm saying it." Lurk pulled his claw from Phage's grasp, thinking that he had perhaps overstepped himself. Once off his foolish tongue, he could not take back his words. He had no way of knowing how a Guardian would react to such concepts. What had he been thinking? A whirlwind of emotion tried to rip his brain in half.

_ Inhale. Count to four. Exhale._ The Ancient thought, and grudgingly his body obeyed.

"I... My Lord. I can be anything you wish. I will not pretend to understand the magnitude of your divinity. Your power transcends worlds. So it makes sense that you sometimes left for other worlds. I can't imagine one that could take something from you or Lady Harmony. I hope Lord Woodsolution went to a peaceful one. If it would balm your sorrow, then I would be the replacement for this creation." She vowed, placing a palm over her heart as she did so.

Curiously, Phage's words spoken in ignorance did not harm the Wyrmblood.

"Thank you, Phage. I guess what I'm trying to say is that... In a way... I hope that in the other life, Harmony and I might have had someone like you. I hope you don't take that the wrong way." Inwardly, Lurk berated himself for putting on such a pathetic showing. Why was he still lingering on worlds better left forgotten? On pain he thought he had moved beyond?

"My... Creator... Even though you cast no spell, your words alone display your wisdom and majesty. Truly we are but shallow reflections of your greatness. Please, High Lord, I live to serve. There is no wrong way I could ever take it. Every moment I spend with you, is a gift, Lord Lurk. One that I shall treasure every moment of my life. Your company, your kindness, is more than I am worth. Yet I selfishly hold on to it all the same." The palm on her heart clenched into a fist, ash flowers pulling taut on the back of her gloves.

Phage the Untouchable kneeled before her creator. Her god. Her power, released from the restriction of mere code, transistors, and binary, and set loose into a mortal world was terrifying beyond countenance. And yet, she bowed to him. She bended knee in unquestioning loyalty. There was nothing he could not ask of her. No task. No request. Nothing would be too much for her Supreme Being. Lurk saw this truth. He knew what miracles and atrocities could be wrought at his word by this creation of his.

Instead, he placed a claw on her shoulder. When she looked at him, acid flowing around her pupil, Lurk reached up and brushed a few loose strands of her hair back into place.

"I can dream that she would have been beautiful, like you." Was all he said. And in that moment, there was no greater gift she could have given him.

Lurk could not bear to go any further with the comparison. If he did, there would be no return from it. And he did not want to burden Phage with such a selfish whim. She was no longer some toy, like a doll for him to project his insecurities onto. The Plague Elf was her own being, now gifted with self-determination. It was not right for the Wyrmblood to use his position of authority to force her to conform to some demented surrogacy.

Phage had only a second to relish the attention and praise of her Lord.

Then the revelation struck her with the force of splitting atoms. It pierced her heart, body, and soul. She had not the breath to gasp, for she had been crucified by the void of pain she never before conceptualized. Despite her gifts of knowledge, all of it failed her. No flowery prose emerged to explain away the oblivion of reason. In the halls of Cognitio, knowledge shattered the Guardian where no mortal blade could ever hope to.

For all her strength, she dared not utter the truth. If her Lord could not give voice, how could she? But Phage understood. And that understanding swept through her like a double maximized casting of [Necrotize]. The very composition of her being threatened to buckle under the revelation. Though no wound had been inflicted upon her, the pain was more than anything she had experienced.

_ I could be your child, Lord Lurk. I would be your daughter._

Though she did not have the audacity to speak it, she could think it. Then the Dreadsoul convinced herself what a foolish and egotistical whim it was. She was no replacement. And never could be. What Phage did have, was her duty. Her fealty. Dedication. Unwavering and unflinching devotion. Her purpose was not to selfishly demand any special treatment. That was not her place. To ask such would be to blaspheme an already generous deity.

"The Citadel exists to adorn you with glory, High Lord Lurk. And I am no exception." She inclined her head to express her instinctive trust to his word and judgement. "You have but to ask, sire."

"Thank you for indulging me, Phage." Lurk said, continuing to fix her braid. Just like he would for Harmony. The Wyrmblood had spent hours learning how to. "Do not look upon what a man says or does, but upon what he creates to take the measure of what he loves and treasures."

"I like how that sounds, my Lord. You are very well versed. Where does that come from, so I may read it as well?"

"Me."

Lurk was about to continue when Silkeena respectfully approached, the tips of her chitinous legs tapping on the stone. King and Guardian looked to the custodian. The Drider bowed low enough that her abdomen almost touched the floor.

"I have gathered all relevant and requested material, High Lord Lurk." Silkeena's voice drifted over the crackling Evercedar with the wonderful gift all librarians seemed to share of being heard no matter the setting. She swept out a hand to point the way. "Of course I would be more than happy to remain at your side. In case you... Needed something else retrieved!" Silkeena quickly stammered.

"My Lord, what are you looking for? Can I help in any way?" Phage gazed up at Lurk like a hopeful puppy of the apocalypse.

"Two pretty ladies offering to help? What a lucky dragon I am today." He said with a chuckle and stood. Holding out a claw, he took Phage's hand and helped the Dreadsoul to her feet. Although her mouth was hidden beneath her oni respirator, the faintest lines crinkled under Phage's eyes.

Turning on a heel, Lurk assumed his professional demeanor as easily as he would one of his many masks. He followed Silkeena to a long table that had its many seats cleared away by the librarian so Lurk could more easily cross-reference a wider range of sources. He picked up a massive tome chased in gold leaf with a vast tree on its cover.

"I'm looking into the deeper myths of YGGDRASIL and the world before it. Even if we can't find out what happened, understanding why could be of great help. One cannot play a game without knowing its rules. Every myth has a kernel of truth hidden in it. Sometimes it's only in retrospect that we understand the real roots of a tale, or its warnings." The Wyrmblood studied the book containing the appended world lore of YGGDRASIL. Years of content updates to the pseudo-Norse inspired game had grown the many interweaving tales into a tangled skein of interconnected dead-ends and contradictory artifact descriptions.

He set aside the monstrous volume that was only a summary of the first year of the game's uptime in favor of the physical certainty. The map of the New World, inked by a Kadusian cartographer was spread before him with paperweights on each corner. Silkeena raised herself up to see better while Phage kept far enough away to make sure her Touch of Rot auras did not damage the vellum of the map.

"I did as you instructed, High Lord, and found several atlases of different worlds we have on record that have the same scale. I estimated the distance from the points of reference you described." Silkeena proudly patted a stack she had assembled for him. First was Earth, and Lurk grabbed the relevant atlas out of the stack.

The chart provided by Queen Ismeena was more comprehensive than Lurk first suspected, showing many hundreds of miles by his reckoning. An ocean dominated the west, stretching up to tundra in the north, and curving around the continent far to the south, terminating in the east in more inland straits. The Citadel occupied the middle of a mountain range that started from the southern edge and ran directly north into a densely packed sawtooth mess chewing its way haphazardly eastward. Of particular interest to Lurk was the continent-spanning jungle of the south. Artistic depiction of what seemed to be dinosaurs were interspersed among the trees. An oversized stone pyramid dominated the center of the jungle.

Lurk tried to match it based on coastline, but nothing even came close after flicking through dozens of pages. He was not an expert on geography by any stretch of the imagination, and set the tome aside. Next was the nine worlds of YGGDRASIL, but that was equally fruitless and he added that to the pile of duds. Flanked by Phage and Silkeena, Lurk tapped his chin thoughtfully, believing the world still a puzzle to be solved. He gave the relative positioning of the kingdoms a cursory glance.

Land and resources shaped cultures and civilizations. At least that was how it worked on Earth, and Lurk had no reason to doubt that the same was true in the New World. So long as his hypothesis that it was indeed a real, breathing land and people continued to hold true.

"Queen Ismeena spoke of an alliance of city-states. Typically, kingdoms in such close proximity are most likely to fight one another. You don't build castles and fortresses for show. And Kadusia was built like it was meant to withstand a hundred years of conflict. This Heymon Empire must be quite a threat to get them to work together." He mused aloud. Beyond Heymon territory was only a vast stretch of land simply labelled as the Great Desert with hazy borders.

"The Heymon Empire is trying to attack the kingdoms?" Silkeena asked, then looked at the map with new insight. The Drider pointed to the network of rivers and lakes that split the generous swathe of territory belonging to the Alliance from the giant of the southeast. "If they're marching an army, then best land route would be here, but Deeka is in the way." Just as Silkeena stated, unless they wanted to go through the jungle or around the ocean, there was just one narrow belt the kingdom of Deeka occupied.

Phage pitched in her thoughts next.

"Why do you think the Heymon Empire is so set on uprooting such an entrenched foe? Would it not be wiser to form a truce and wait for the alliance to fracture if there's a history of wars like you say? Strike a weakened enemy, rather than a united one." The Dreadsoul had no formal training. Just an instinct for battle.

Through his interactions with Kadusia, Lurk now understood that compared to a normal human, Phage was akin to a demigod. If he were a little soldier plodding along who only knew maybe third tier magic and along came a being who could cast tenth tier, that would be his view of her. And what did that mean for Lurk himself, who had access to Super-Tier? In a world subject to physical law, dropping such a spell would likely be equal to natural disasters on a continental scale. Surprisingly, his finger being on the metaphorical trigger of weapons of mass destruction did not bother him. Perhaps it was his racial again.

_No, I mustn't get complacent. There's no guarantee that we're the only ones with access to such power. A world is a big place, after all._ He thought. Then the Wrymblood continued.

"There could be many reasons. Greed. Hubris. Ancestral tensions. Expansionist ideals. Kadusia sits in the middle of these plains, forming the breadbasket of the region it seems. When we flew in, most of what I saw was farmlands. Small villages here and there. I'm guessing that Kadusia is a major source of food. The Heymon people must have enough land to sustain a large enough population to support an army that can threaten the Alliance."

In the rougher terrain of the north was the land of Orza. The kingdom had access to a reasonably sized inlet gulf that let out into the ocean. Beyond the northern Orza was a mountain range shown to be massive and past that, only icy tundra. Dragons circled the prominent peaks. A sprawling swathe of coastal territory south of that denoted the Oxelans. A few villages and harbors dotted the thin strip of land between the ocean and the mountain range that ran parallel to it.

"The north looks too close to tundra to effectively sustain themselves. I wonder what they grow and how much Orza and Oxelan quibble over fishing rights. Orza has this gulf which forms protection from the sea. But mountains usually mean mineral deposits. There's all these pickaxes here, so that's probably the case. No nation lives off just one trade." Lurk trailed the point of a claw from the Orza gulf down the coast to Oxelan.

"These roads look dangerous." Silkeena pointed to the thin capillaries through the rough terrain between Kadusia and Orza.

"They must ship goods via barge or boat to Oxelan, then over our mountain pass to Kadusia and back again." Lurk brooded.

"That makes our spot even more valuable. We could strangle their trade if we wanted." Once more with the thinking of a predator, Phage pointed her fangs at her prey's throat.

"We could cut off the best road, that's for sure. But I suspect plenty of longer voyages plot their path south around the continent all the way to Deeka. It's a trek, but not impossible. Look at where Deeka is located. All they have are the narrow straits connecting to the Heymon Empire and this jungle to their south. They're pinched between a rock and a hard place." Lurk's mind was churning, wondering where The Citadel would most benefit.

"The others must know that if Deeka falls, the Heymon can sweep on to them." The Dreadsoul concluded.

"What do you suggest, Phage?" Lurk wondered if his Guardian was having similar suppositions.

"Winter is fast approaching. These warring states are only human, after all. Humans are frail, and fighting will stall come winter. We should send envoys to the other city-states. Let's keep our options open. The Heymon might be a safer long-term ally." Phage offered pragmatically. "Assuming we choose to support Kadusia, we're backing the Alliance. If we back the Alliance, then we back Deeka. We should secure our position here first. Reach out to Orza, and Oxelan. With the good will of Kadusia, we'll have a diplomatic advantage. And with the other three, Deeka will have to back us."

"Incredible, Dread Lady." Silkeena trilled, politely clasping her hands to her generous bosom.

Lurk smiled at the two interacting, then finished his own train of thought.

"These southern jungles and northern mountains intrigue me. We must gauge what threats The Citadel may face. I think sending the rest of the Caliber Court out on Greater Wyverns with escorts should be a negligible drain on resources. I'm interested to hear what Lapua's scouting reports will entail."

***BSL***

Three-Thirty-Eight Lapua Magnum made a solemn vow that if she had to clear one more house basement of giant rats, she would simply skip the basement and burn the whole thing down.

***BSL***

Author's Notes:

The passage read by the Plague Elf to Phage earlier in the story is from Storm of Iron by Graham Mcneill. All credit for that particular book belongs to its author. If you're a fan of Warhammer 40K I highly recommend it. One of my favorites and definitely helped spark my love of all things siege-y.

Mantle of Grey I made up!

Thank you to everyone who has commented thus far on Black Sky Legion! It really does mean the world to me, gentle readers. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading as much as I am writing.


	8. A Crown Of Iron By Any Other Name

**Author's Notes:** Warning! This chapter has a lot of smut! Do not be alarmed, it is loving smutty love between two married, consenting adults. Well, except for a little bit with Nox and a maid. But it's all in good fun, don't worry.

***BSL***

Life will congregate around light, warmth, and food. And the feasting hall of The Citadel bustled with life.

Dozens of Lamia maids moved about their tasks, taking serving trays of steaming food off to various parts of the ninth floor. Others congregated around the many long tables in their off time. Chandeliers and a few hearths bathed the space in a rich glow. Hanging vines climbed up fluted columns from stone planter boxes. The lush green ivy scaled up the walls and dangling arms sprouted with glowing yellow blossoms that added to the luminescence of the hall.

On a hanging pavilion overlooking the hall, the monarchs Lurk and Harmony enjoyed a meal befitting their station. They had made the mistake of asking for 'something nice'. The couple had realized the breadth of their error when their table had become crowded with plates piled high with the finest cuisine conceivable. The Lamia cooks had rolled up their sleeves and whipped their sous chefs into a frenzy. It was not often one had the privilege of serving royalty. A sampling of delights with enough opulence as to make a sultan blush was delivered up to the balcony. Harmony was glad she was still wearing her comfortable clothes.

Dozens of different offerings were on display, from the familiar to the exotic. Numerous different meats, served whole, or sliced, or prepared raw, many still sizzling from the spits or grills of the kitchen wafted their mouth-watering bouquet of rich promise to the delight of the ruler's acute noses. From one of her favorite cooking shows, Harmony recalled a chef saying that a meal starts with the nose. And the spread did not disappoint in that regard. The Lamia cooks had taken this aspect into consideration and coordinated the spices used to provide complimentary hues to the sweet and savory aromas.

The selection was not limited to proteins. Fruits and vegetables from The Citadel's stocks or from the Arboretum joined the explosion of delights. The apple, pear, and pineapple dishes alone were nearly falling off one edge of the table. There was even an ice sculpture chiselled into the shape of a wyvern with its cold wings chilling watermelons carved with flowers. That display had taken four Lamias carefully slithering their way up the stairs to carry. There was even a charred prime rib larger than Soot placed on the table, which the Gunpowder Dragon had gleefully fallen upon. Though Soot was looking more rotund than usual, he was determined.

Harmony felt a small stab of guilt over the possible waste, but consoled herself with the notion that it was all simply summoned by magic. That did not stop her from dragging a steaming chunk of bread through the fat drippings of a plate piled high with rosemary-roast duck. She had yet to take a bite of the same thing and was already feeling full.

Luxury was not something Lurk and Harmony were well acquainted with. Luxury was a distant thing. Something that other people enjoyed. A rich privileged few who lived off the blood and sweat of the rest back in the old world. Like the other ninety-nine point nine percent of people living in America, the husband and wife enjoyed what they could, and tried not to live beyond their means. Lurk had his books. Harmony had her art. They had simple jobs that were tolerable on the better days, their games, and each other. For them, that was enough. It was less about modesty, and more about sustainability. Yet those experiences had taught them patience and humility. It was either learn, or become indentured servants to debt labor companies, like Harmony's extended family had.

So while they were wary of falling prey to the trappings of extravagance, they would not waste the opportunity either.

"How do you think we're doing on food?" Harmony asked around a mouthful of Greater Tuna.

"The chefs say the magic larders are staying nice and full." The cook maids nearly fainted when Lurk had personally stepped into the kitchens for inspection. "I'm glad I made all those meat freezers. The big eaters are the Demi-Claws and the wyverns on the eighth. The Plague Elves only rarely eat, the Silver Knights and Flayers don't eat at all, and the fifth floor is self-sustaining." He paused for a moment to chew a mouthful of garlic fingerling potatoes. "If I remember correctly, I set up army style MRE stockpiles in Alpha and Omega for the shooting and HP stat boosts they gave. If the kitchens are refilling themselves, I certainly hope those are."

Lurk skewered three pieces of salt-crusted quail and popped it all into his mouth. The meat practically melted on his tongue. He thought about all the times he had salivated over the food when YGGDRASIL had been just a game. That was the thing about the full-dive world. There was plenty of food and drink to be had, but none of it interacted with the player avatars. Full-dive had such strong potential for physiological and psychological ramifications. If you ate or drank in the game, it could fully trick your brain into believing your stomach was full. People had accidentally died during some of the earlier days where the technology was not fully understood.

Now though... Now it was real.

Many players carried rings of sustenance, and the monarchs of Black Sky were no exception. It was basic kit. Yet the ring occluded the ability to use some of the more advanced buffs offered by rare drink and prepared meals. Cooking was a serious job class for a reason. It was a respectable occupation. One that was always in demand, and turned a fair coin. Or at least, it had been. In all the excitement since coming to the new world, neither of them had taken the time to sit down for an actual meal. They had either grabbed a quick snack or popped on their rings unless they were sleeping.

_Time_, Lurk pondered as he chewed. _We thought The Citadel was out of time. Now that we have it, there's more to do than ever_. He swallowed his bite of duck and voiced his thoughts aloud.

"Y'know, I'm glad to not have work anymore, but we're going to have our hands full. There's... There's a shitload of stuff to do to make sure we're not hemorrhaging food or other essentials."

Harmony stretched her arms high as she yawned, light glinting off her long, pearly white canines. She grabbed a mug of hot cider and raised it towards Lurk. He reciprocated with his Bomberry juice.

"Fuck work." She stated with the bitterness of unfulfilled commission promises. Though Harmony sometimes enjoyed her old digital graphics profession, she did not miss the corporate bullshit that went along with it.

"Fuck work." Lurk agreed with the sour affirmation of a thousand days of unpaid overtime.

Although the table was too wide to toast directly, they made the motion with their glasses.

"Clink." The couple said in unison, then laughed and drank to cement their toast.

Lurk drained his cup and poured himself another helping of juice from an obsidian pitcher. Before the volcanic glass pitcher that the Wyrmblood was quickly exhausting could even get halfway empty, a Lamia appeared with a fresh vessel and replaced it. The beverage was cooled so as to have a wafer thin layer of frost along the top.

"Thank you." Lurk said reflexively, giving the Lamia a wide draconic smile. The maid's cheeks went as red as Harmony's hair as she squeaked out an 'excuse me'. The Lamia darted away with a curtsy.

On her way to the stairs, Koh, The Citadel's resident butler, leaned in and whispered something in the girl's elfin ear. The maid visibly trembled and pretended to adjust her grip on the pitcher while she actually pulled her top down just enough to give the large male a view of her ample breasts. She whispered something in return before hurriedly slithering down the stairs towards the kitchen. Koh rested back on his coils, resuming his original posture with only the fleeting mirage of a smile breaking his perfectly dutiful facade. He thought he was being covert about it, but Harmony saw the whole thing.

"Honey, honey, oh my goodness. Oh my goodness." Harmony rapidly patted the table, her eyes going wide. Since she was facing the stairs, she had a perfect view.

"What? What happened?" Lurk froze with his fresh cup almost to his scaly mouth and began to turn where his wife was staring.

"Don't look. Koh. Koh totally just put the moves on one of the maids. Holy shit that was priceless." The woman hid her grin behind a Terror Bird drumstick.

Lurk nearly snorted his drink.

"Did... Did we program him to do that?" The Wyrmblood sputtered.

"Fuck, I..." Harmony's eyes nearly crossed as she sped through her memory. "I think I..." Her face turned a fine shade of scarlet and her lips puckered as she tried to not burst out laughing. "I think I wrote that he's a total stud muffin. That he's the only male and... Services all the maids!" She tried not to blurt the revelation too loudly, eyes flicking to Koh and back to Lurk. The snake butler stood vigilantly at the top of the stairs, ensuring his King and Queen had their meal in relative privacy unless they needed something.

"Oh that's absolutely hysterical." He stuck a fork into a slab of medium rare porterhouse and hauled it onto his plate to mask his wry smile. "Now that is a lucky snake guy." The draconic man carved off a hunk of steak and a moment of silence passed between them.

"Do you think it's right that we... I guess rule them?" Lurk's scaly brow knit together as he chewed on another bite of steak to calm his nerves. His question was tentative.

"Well, we can't exactly abandon them. I don't know if they're dependent on us, but leaving would be wrong. I think, anyway. Besides, where would we go?" Turning up an open palm in askance, Harmony took a small break to let her stomach settle.

"True. True. I just wish... I don't know. That we had better prepared." Though he was melancholy, the idea of Koh getting as much Lamia tail as the butler could handle provided masculine satisfaction.

"How would we have known this would happen? Don't worry about what we couldn't have predicted. They... Were just... Characters." Harmony looked over the ivy strewn railing down to the hall. The maids had moved around back when YGGDRASIL was just a game. But now there was so much more vibrancy in their action. She swivelled her head back to Lurk. "We sometimes talked about living in certain games."

"Do you remember designing our bedroom in Demon Slayer Eight?" Nostalgia tinged his voice with sorrow and fondness both. It had taken Lurk quite a lot of convincing to get Harmony to play that title. Much of YGGDRASIL, even the melee combat, was just pushing buttons. Demon Slayer Eight had been a full-dive sequel of the Demon Slayer series. Although it did not have competitive player versus player combat, the game sold itself on the player's physical skill and reflexes deciding the outcome. Once he had gotten her to try it, her love of dual blades inspired Harmony to pick up the Wyvern Berserker job class.

"Oh yeah! We spent a stupid amount of time collecting all the species of imp pets and decorating. That was the first time we put the Black Sky symbol on bed sheets. I guess things have come a long way. The Citadel was pretty much automated by the end. I hardly ever had to log on, really." She said as she began to feel the weight of what was plaguing her husband.

"We definitely never thought through all that it would entail. Especially not something like this. Not on this scale. It would be different if it was just us." He trailed off, grabbing an apple far more luscious than any that could be found in the old world.

"Hey, what do you think happened to our bodies?" Harmony asked. She imagined that if anyone would know, it would be her scholarly husband. He took a bite of his apple, fangs sinking through the crisp skin into the tender flesh and sat back in the chair. Then he folded his arms over his chest to ease his own quickly filling stomach.

"Well, I think it's possible we're still just sitting in our recliners. Perhaps we got fully sucked in, body and all. Though it's also possible that when our minds left, our bodies died. Though maybe we were just subjected to the coin flip. That fifty-fifty shot whenever a mind is duplicated that either you end up where you're going, or get left behind." Dancing through the different possibilities, the Wyrmblood avoided other... Darker avenues. Nightmares belonged on the fourth floor, not spoiling dinner.

Harmony blinked rapidly as her brain spun in circles, chasing its own tail trying to follow all the different outcomes.

"Which is most likely?" She asked.

"There's no way to know, really. Hopefully nothing bad. I don't fancy the idea of us sitting there like empty husks." Shaking his head to dispel the fugue, Lurk tried to tell himself not to linger on what ifs and instead voiced a more real concern he had been holding in for some time.

"Do you think we were too bold with Ismeena? With Kadusia?" He asked. Lurk had been replaying the conversation with the queen over and over, trying to find faults and wringing himself dry with worry.

"Again, sugar, what else could we have done?" Harmony responded, well accustomed to Lurk's vexatious manner.

"We could have stayed out of it." Was his immediate counter.

"Aaand, what would have happened because of it? The Bandit King would've probably gotten in and stolen a whole bunch of their food and probably other nasty stuff. Then they would've come back here and we would've had to deal with 'em anyway."

"We could've just locked ourselves in The Citadel. Just live in here for the rest of... Forever. But good things don't happen to passive nations. Bad things mostly." Grumbling more to himself than anything else, Lurk could not resist the bowl full of honeyed dates. Something he had only ever read about. It was like taking a bite of ambrosia, the thick honey oozing between his teeth.

"You just answered your own question." Grabbing a cherry, Harmony deftly removed the seed with her dexterous tongue and spat the pit at her husband. The shot was good and bounced off Lurk's snout.

"I know. Talking it out helps." He took the hit with a grateful smile and a sip of his drink, washing down the sticky honey.

"I think if anyone could be a king, it'd be you sweetie." Though the table was too long to reach with her scaly hands, Harmony strained her tail and managed to hook the tip of Lurk's extra appendage under the table. Her bright red mingled with his deeper burgundy.

"You're gonna give me tooth decay with all this sweetie talk." Lurk's face drew tight, his mouth screwing in at the corners. "I just don't know if I'm up to it." He idly clenched and unclenched his left claw. "I've managed teams before, but nothing like this."

"There's nothing you can't do." Though she could not grab her husband's worrying claw, her tail gave his a reassuring squeeze. This got a chuckle from Lurk, and he entwined his tail tighter around hers.

"That's exactly what Phage said to me in the library." He said distantly, peeling a orange to keep his claws busy. His dexterous digits made quick work of the diminutive citrus.

"She was in the library?" Empathetic for fruit, Harmony cracked open a pomegranate to pluck at its juicy center.

"I forgot I had put in a love for reading in her character information. But the poor thing can't touch the books." A now familiar ache threatened to return in the base of his horns.

"Oh yeah, that's kinda her thing, isn't it?" Harmony had not made Phage, but recalled Lurk talking about how he wished that YGGDRASIL supported having multiple avatars, and instead making Phage with one of his theoretical builds.

"She says she likes being read to. So I hope it's not too bad for her." He tried to bury the peculiar new feelings, and his rumbling tone was too neutral.

"That's kind of adorable. Did you put that in?" Even with a different face, Harmony knew the depth, if not the exact content of his mind.

Lurk took a hefty swig of Bomberry juice to clear his throat.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't. I think when we transferred to this world, all the gaps got filled in. Do you think the Guardians have full agency? Can they self-determine?" A thousand questions still rattled around in the Wyrmblood's skull.

"They're definitely alive." Harmony looked down to once more watch the Lamias, paying closer attention to the interactions they had with one another.

When they were only characters, serving the ninth floor as custodians for the general upkeep required of The Citadel, the Lamias followed strict paths. Harmony had gotten more than a few unstuck from faulty artificial determination getting them trapped on walls or decorations. A major criticism of YGGDRASIL had always been its AI. The devs could create amazing mobs and bosses. Unfortunately said bosses and raids rarely came down to anything other than high damage output slugfests. Once upon a time, YGGDRASIL had been a singular achievement. A milestone of gaming. Then others had come along to usurp the dive game. And once the decline was underway, there had been no stopping it.

Little gaggles of maids congregated at the tables with food and drink. They laughed and were in motion as they talked, leaning forward and back, touching one another, and acted as though this was how things had always been. Once more, showing such a range of motion and expression that full-dive could not have been able to produce in another hundred years of development.

"I almost forgot to mention, I checked everything I could think of in Cognitio for any clue as to where we are." Lurk discarded the peel, splitting off wedges and popping them one by one in his mouth.

"And?" Harmony perked up as she continued to hollow out her pomegranate shell. She glanced to Lurk but was disappointed as he shook his head.

"Nothing. I even looked at maps for other games. Assuming the map Queen Ismeena gave us was even somewhat accurate, we're nowhere. So here we sit. In what used to be a game, inhabiting bodies we made with button clicks, surrounded by spontaneously sentient game characters that we also made, transported to nowhere. What to do about all of this..." He turned his head, surveying the feasting hall and the wider implications.

"Maybe a bath? Then relax?" Patting her flat iron stomach, Harmony's answer was self-evident. "Whew, I'm full."

Lurk chuckled.

Soot had fallen just short of victory, having made it almost to the end before falling over onto the platter sound asleep. His little head rested on the last and fattiest chunk of prime rib.

"Are you sure?" Lurk teased. "I bet I could get dessert going."

"It's not nice to joke about those things. I'll have you know dessert is serious business." Though she pouted, Harmony squeezed Lurk's tail. "I'm at just that right amount of fullness. Almost too much, but not so much I feel sick. Also this was all really rich food. Back... Before, this would tear my stomach up." After she fought down another spike of guilt due to waste, Harmony asked her own question.

"How much do you think all this would cost back on Earth?" She waved to the cornucopia. Even with their new and expanded appetites, they had barely put a dent in the offerings.

"Real meat? Not artificial? More than we'd make in a year. Probably two years." Most of what had been laid out for them the monarchs had only had once in their lives. Certainly never in such quantity or quality.

"Hey... Hun?" Harmony asked, her brow crinkling as she tugged on Lurk's tail. "How much did this _actually_ cost?"

"What, like in gol-" He froze, realizing that in all their excitement, the couple had made one critical error in inspecting The Citadel.

"The treasury!" Both shouted in alarm. Harmony gracefully spun around in her seat and launched herself away. Lurk knocked his chair over with his tail and hastily righted it before running after his wife.

Koh bowed as his masters bounded down the stairs. Then he gave a short whistle and a cleanup team of maids dutifully began clearing away the mess, with several of the cooks jockeying in to see whose dish had been eaten the most. Meanwhile Soot was handed off to a pair of Lamias who took the grumbling Gunpowder Dragon down into the feasting hall for belly rubs.

From the feasting hall, they only needed to cross into the main thoroughfare of the ninth floor, and pass by their throne room. Two pairs of talons clicked on the inlaid Black Sky sun as the rulers hurried to their destination. Slowing to a halt, neither of them were out of breath as they stood before the monolithic entry to the forge. Before they could go into the treasury, Lurk and Harmony had to go through the forge. They could have bypassed it, however the antechamber and its contents were just as important as the room it guarded. Everything about the forge and the treasury had to be in working order, and that meant going through each step manually.

Similar to the front door of The Citadel, the gateway in to the forge was wide in scope. However, its only ornamentation were the intricate system of opening mechanisms and locks. It was meant to be large enough to allow even the largest entity entry, or the largest inhabitant back out. Lurk got there first, so he pressed his palm to the center lock. A cascading mechanical ballet played out as the whirring gears and pins sank into new positions in a radial pattern all the way to the edge, releasing their hold along the way. Wheels spun, interlocking bars retracting into the walls and floor thick around as tree trunks and made of solid adamantium.

Lurk was always thorough when it came to defenses.

As the door cleared its threshold, a wave of heat and the roar of industrial furnaces blasted forth like an uncorked crucible.

Inside the forge was controlled chaos. Dozens of polished metal dragons the size of ponies hurried about the various stations. They tended to hungry furnaces with refined coal, Giant's Sulfur, and other exotic means to oxidize or introduce different elements, casting pure liquid runoff into molds while scooping away the slag with their silvery talons. Muspelheim was rich in many products used for advanced smithing. Some worked at stations or anvils, with teams wielding hammers to coax stubborn material into shape with resounding clangs. Much like Cognitio, the forge had its own gantries and granite shelves. But rather than books, thousands of ingots and data crystals ranging from lowly iron, all the way to Prismatic Ore were smelted into neat bricks for cataloguing. Many dragons went back and forth, adding to or taking from the stores.

They were the Forgelings, calling out measurements, for extra hands, material, or production estimates.

And above them, surveying the work with a watchful gaze, was the Forgemother.

The Forgemother was the the beating heart of The Citadel. She was a metal dragon of monolithic proportions, tasked with protecting the treasury, and the guild item contained within. Fittingly, she was the single most powerful Guardian. Area or floor. Her perch was well suited to her majesty. It was dais of pipes and channels which sat at the center of the forge and through which everything flowed. An altar of creation that she fueled with her molten blood. A pair of staircases spiraled up on either side leading to the vault door of The Citadel's treasury. Glowing orange fire rose and fell between the shifting plates of her chest in time with the dragon's breathing.

Lurk and Harmony crossed the threshold of the forge into the heat and bustle. Hammers rose and fell in a staccato rhythm. To Lurk, seeing the Forgemother was akin to seeing a piece of Entropy alive. Being there. Feeling the heat. Smelling the tang of hot brass and alchemical agents. Hearing the Forgelings vocalizing. It all came together into more the old magic made new again.

Only Lurk and the Forgemother had higher max levels than all the rest. Sovereign of the Masquerade raised Lurk to that precipitous height.

For the Forgemother...

Godmaker. Avatar of Metal.

The monarchs approached the floor Guardian. As they did, she mantled her wings outward like a bird of prey. Her pinions were thinner sheets of plate and whispered along one another as her joints opened the razor sharp sheaves of burnished metal unfolded in a display of welcome. Her body was a furnace with the intensity to melt gods into swords, claws that diamonds envied with their hardness, and wings that were made of blades sharp enough to split prismatic ore. And she had a voice to match. Beneath a regal feminine intonation, was the rumble of constrained heat. Her Celestial Uranium body cast off waves of power like a star shedding its chromosphere.

"High Lord Lurk! Fairest Lady Harmony. Welcome to the forge. You honor us with your warmth." The Forgemother put a claw to her mammoth chest with a clang and lowered her head in deference. Between her two curving cobalt horns, a ball of boiling Relic Iron was suspended between the two points. Despite being many thousands of degrees, the sphere's roiling surface was contained. Like planets orbiting a sun, spheres of Adamantium and Darksteel spun around her brow in a glittering crown.

The Forgelings all dropped what they were doing and supplicated themselves before their Supreme Beings. They were wingless reflections of the Forgemother in miniature. Individually, each of the Forgelings were appreciable threats to high level players, and she towered above them like an empress. She was what they could be, given a Caloric Stone.

"Hello, Forgemother. I never get tired of seeing you." Said Lurk. His eyes were wide, jaw hanging slack. Yet Lurk's scaly face slowly turned into a smile. Then into a grin that made his cheeks hurt as he looked at all the Forgelings. The Forgemother's tail lifted once in a contented wave as she adjusted herself on her perch, puffing her chest up and laying one claw over the other like an oversized cat. All her children waved their tails to and fro with much more emphasis. Harmony bounced on her talons in delight.

"Have you come to make something?" The Forgemother asked as she gave her tail another flick. "A new gun perhaps? Or... Or a blade? Special ammunition? I just turned out a fresh batch of casings." The Forgemother spoke faster. The boiling iron held in check by the cobalt bent and flexed in impatience as her ring of other metals hastened in their orbits. At her mention, a Forgeling jumped up and ran over with a basket held with its mouth full of freshly drawn casings from their acid bath.

"Not today." Lurk felt a stab in his heart when the Forgemother drooped like a badly quenched blade. The Forgeling slowed from its eager gallop to halt just a bit short of its goal. "Though, we are here for something very important. How are we doing on funds?" The Forgemother perked back up.

"You're going to have to be more specific, High Lord Lurk. I mean no offense, holy Ancient." The Forgemother bobbed her head in veneration.

"No, that was vague. I meant sustainability. Right now, how long can we remain as we are in terms of active defenses?"

"Active defenses? Let's see." The metal spheres slowed, and two broke off from the rest to hover before the inferno contained within the Forgemother's eyes.

Each was actually a connection to the different floors of The Citadel, and could be assessed at a glance. Her Imperitor Titanica class saw to that. Black Sky Legion was not a large guild. In fact, it was minuscule in comparison with the top slot contenders. Having a guildhall was expensive. Everything cost gold. The summons. Feeding the inhabitants. Growing plants and ingredients. Even keeping the water in the baths running. Not only was the Forgemother obscenely strong, but she mitigated the upkeep cost of The Citadel.

Arrayed along the walls of the forge, nestled in lattices of pipes were industrial strength smelters, furnaces, and all of it fed to and from the Forgemother. An unceasing churn of weapons and ammunition poured from the forge. A separate stockpile and work area connected to the forge held the processed gunpowder from the Arboretum. Not for many years had there been so many orders. She could feel and therefore measure the liquid metal churning in her smelters. When she sat upon the seat of power within her fiefdom, the Avatar of Metal could sense its every working as though it was an extension of her body. The blood of war was the Godmaker's to command.

"The largest order by far is from the Alpha and Omega bunkers. The twins have put in requests for more of everything. Spike traps. Type Ninety-Nines. Hellhammer Howitzers. And shells for the Hellhammers. They wanted more ammunition, but for now I'm just filling the bunker's magazines. I've already gotten in contact with Loam to make sure we have enough plots of Blazenuts. I did approve more [Implosion] mines as well as satchel charges. There's only daily restrictions on those production lines so I felt it prudent to stock them on fallback consumables."

As the Forgemother gave her more detailed report, Lurk glanced down at the Forgeling dejectedly pushing around casings in its basket. When the metal dragon noticed his attention, the end of its tail twitched hopefully. Shifting his gaze back to the Forgemother, then down, then back again, Lurk could not resist. He patted his thigh and curled his digits into his palm in a come hither gesture. The Forgeling peeked over its shoulder and inched forward on its belly.

The two satellites resumed their position and a new one took its place before the watchful gaze of the Forgemother.

"The third floor has remained mostly unchanged, cost wise. Extra spears. Shields. Whetstones of course. And the repair packs." The Forgemother rattled off the growing list of items with ease despite the logistics behind the production.

Being Living Armor meant that the Silver Knights did not use normal health potions. Spare parts could be changed out at a moment's notice so even if a soldier fell, he could simply swap out a piece of himself and return to the fighting. Customization in YGGDRASIL extended even to NPC types available for populating guildhalls, and allowed Harmony to make the third floor into exactly how she had envisioned it.

When the Forgemother examined the next orb, one corner of her mouth curled upward in wry amusement.

"Skitharix cannot do what I can, though I respect his dedication to using his own crafting abilities as much as possible. The Flayers only require ingots or crystals and the helix pylons need minimal upkeep." Back in the game, the solar system of metallic surrogates was only a cosmetic that had appeared to accompany Imperitor Titanica. Where even the most advanced simulation technology had been unable to render, life had filled in the rest.

The Flayers of the fourth floor were the first craftsmen of The Citadel upon its initial founding. Skitharix and his Flayers had been Black Sky Legion's main source of the skill set for a long time. Short of contracting another player in an ally guild for certain specialized tasks. Large guilds back in YGGDRASIL could afford dedicated crafting characters. Black Sky Legion was not a large guild. The grind had been a stressful undertaking initially. In the age old role-playing loop, Lurk, Harmony, and Woodsolution had gotten better gear to fight bigger monster to get more resources.

It had taken uncountable billions to make the forge, and the Forgelings to protect and run the dedicated crafting area. However, creation of the forge had required more than just grinding lucrative spawns in Muspelheim. The levels from The Citadel devoted to the forge, the Mother and her children, had cost Lurk a great deal of real world money. It had been difficult to justify the expenditure on an in-game guildhall that could be lost or destroyed with enough of a concerted effort. However, that was the nature of YGGDRASIL. And it could push whatever greedy practices the devs had wanted back in its heyday.

A larger sphere of cobalt responded to its Imperitor and only needed a passing glance.

"The Leviathan and the rest of the Mystic's Reef are doing well. They're expensive, but I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed anything to tarnish the legacy of Lord Woodsolution."

Lurk diverted his focus to the Forgeling sitting on its haunches before him. In both of its foreclaws, it held up glittering piles of casings. Light from the lit forges glinted of the copper alloy. He considered when they were just concepts in his head. And he thought of what a pitiable expense they were. What if he had never spent those bonus checks from his job on The Citadel? How much would he have paid just to see one Forgeling really alive? Just like Phage, it was not something he could dwell on. Instead he plucked a few bits of brass and examined the laser-cutter precision the dragons could achieve by hand and eye alone.

"Grown in its native soil of the, the ash flowers are maturing nicely. The Corsairs have plenty of the bloom to make their poison. The [Radiant] obelisks are turned low, so the drain there is negligible. The forts are fairly well stocked with bolts and razorwire bombs. And Phage the Untouchable has personally asked for several hundred training carbines as well as blunt bolts." The Forgemother cocked her head slightly, examining the representation more closely. "It seems the Dread Lady is honing her craft. The Corsairs are conducting mock raids between the fortresses of the ash plains." There was approval in her tone as the Forgemother smiled. The Plague Elves were not content to rest on their laurels, but needed just a bit of help to adequately practice.

And the Forgemother was happy to provide.

While the Avatar of Metal was busy calculating resource draw against her own generating abilities, Lurk held an open palm out in front of the Forgeling. A flexible ribbon of a tongue flicked out before it pushed its snout into his claw. Lurk crouched down and stroked the top of its head and neck. Steel scales rippled with its breath and motion.

"Well, hi there. Aren't you gorgeous?" Being so close, Lurk marveled. Every time he feared the magic might fade, The Citadel proved him wrong. The Forgeling squealed softly in delight as its tail wagged, thrilled beyond measure to get personal attention.

Life found a way, with all its impossible complexity.

And the eye is one of the most complex structures in any living creature. Within the Forgeling's eye were a mesh of crystalline wires, a dozen times thinner than a strand of hair. These wires controlled polished pyrite mirrors to form a lens, floating on top of a tiny pool of mercury within the glassy sphere. A draconic slit pupil of Darksteel contracted to bring Lurk into focus in the nearer light.

_Even though they're metal, they're so..._ Lurk thought as the unmistakable spark of intelligence and understanding gazed back into him. The irrefutable glimmer of a soul.

Seeing their sibling getting attention, many of the closer Forgelings began sneaking their way forward. Naturally, being Lurk's creations, they crowded around Harmony.

Harmony had been lost in nostalgia for days gone while the Forgemother spoke. The forge was a common stop for the guild members of Black Sky Legion. Whether it was to maintain gear, make things, or dump their overloaded inventory into the treasury, the three members had made hundreds of trips to the heart of The Citadel. Although Lurk had made the Forgemother, Harmony was the one to give the magnificent dragon different animations for whenever they used her to create something. The mantling of her wings that the Forgemother performed to greet the monarchs was one of Harmony's favorites.

As Lurk spoke to one, a particularly brave Forgeling snuck right up to Harmony and nudged its snout against her ankle. It peered up at her with a pleading expression that melted her heart into mush. Leaning over, Harmony lavished the Forgeling with affection, scratching under its chin and just behind its jaw.

"Gooney, gooney, gooney!" She babbled to the small dragon. Playfully, she rubbed down its back and pushed it onto its side to rub the Forgeling's belly. Like an oversized feline, the dragon rumbled happily, tail thumping against the floor as its raised its claws up.

Another Forgeling jealously wiggled its head under Harmony's arm, wanting affection. She rubbed its face as she continued to polish the underbelly of the first. Then another nudged her. And another. Soon Harmony was giggling as if she was covered in puppies as she was swarmed by the Forgelings while the Forgemother pretended not to notice.

Looking at his wife being so happy, Lurk could not remember the last time he had smiled so much.

A ball of Relic Iron with a vein of molten basalt was the last sphere to float before the Forgemother.

"The eighth floor is unchanged. The Scar has eggs on standby to hatch in case any Greater Wyvern losses are incurred." The Forgemother scoffed. "Novus seems unconcerned about anything getting to his floor. I'll get that lazy zombie's arse in gear if I have to light it on fire." The imperious metal dragon exhaled an exasperated plume of white-hot flame that faded to red before dissipating.

_Heh. I couldn't change Novus's character information, but I gave the Forgemother a bit of a thing with him, didn't I?_ Lurk inwardly chuckled at the visual of the two dragons acting like an elderly married couple. _I think she fits ornery grandmother quite well._

"In summary, the upkeep is manageable. Many defensive systems are on standby. I shall be ever vigilant, High Lord Lurk. So long as the forge is under my command, no enemy shall make it here. But if they ever do... The flames of Muspelheim itself will seem like an icy breeze by compare." The glow in the Forgemother's chest brightened in promise.

Lurk reflexively looked up to the ceiling of the forge.

Like control rods of a nuclear reactor, stalactites of Nova Crystal with [Inversion] could be raised or lowered to curb the temperature of the forge. Cranked up to its maximum heat, the only thing that could survive more than a few seconds was the Forgemother and her Forgelings if they huddled underneath her. Within the forge, the Forgemother was a force of nature that could withstand a siege for months. Rivers of liquid metal flowed through channels. That was its greatest weakness. Inevitably, the treasury would be exhausted by the prodigious cost.

Lurk had tested the lethality using only a fraction of the rods, and nearly killed himself by accident. Then he tried it again with his best fire gear, a masterwork potion of flame resistance, a buff from Harmony, and his mask of the Keeper. Then he survived all of about a minute with the rods at a quarter. Harmony's Aegis of Muspelheim class let her withstand more than half before the damage overcame her natural regeneration when exposed to fire.

Lurk dabbled in flame. He used it in many of his weapons. But Harmony lived and breathed it. She had spent her early days in the game experimenting with pyromancy and shaman builds. The allure of Wyvern Berserker made her lean more heavily into classes that would compliment melee and front-line sustainability, but nothing would make her give up her Aegis of Muspelheim. She grew to love that harsh and unforgiving land of dragons, desert, and brutal difficulty. That affection was one of the reasons she logged in every week to make sure The Citadel never faded.

Once, The Citadel had existed in a realm of volcanoes and pyroclastic flow. Now, in a fragile world, in his mind Lurk could only think of it as a matchstick by comparison.

"That's... incredible. I'm glad you're with us, Forgemother. You seem to have things under control. Just let me know if anything... Uh, anything changes." Lurk was staggered for a moment before recovering. "I have faith in your report and capabilities, but we'd like to go into the treasury to see things for ourselves."

"Of course, High Lord Lurk. Not a single coin is moved without my knowledge. My life and the lives of my children belong to you, our creators." The Forgemother dipped her head almost to the edge of her dais.

While Lurk shifted in discomfort at being so regarded, the weight of it was tempered by relief. Even if he and Harmony were to vanish, pulled by whatever force had placed them in the world, the Forgemother would let The Citadel live on. He tenderly scratched under the Forgeling's jaw. The longer he spent with the Guardians and other inhabitants, the more Lurk felt a jealous urge to keep them all safe take root and grow from within.

The Forgemother rapped her knuckles on her dais to get the attention of her wayward children. All the Forgelings piled on Harmony reluctantly scattered back to their tasks.

"Go on." Lurk gave the small dragon a broad smile. Though it whined, the Forgeling gathered up its basket of brass. With one more glance back at Lurk, it returned to the pack.

Just as disappointed, Harmony joined her husband and they walked up one of the curving staircases up to the platform where the Forgemother sat. As they passed, Lurk placed his palm on the Forgemother's back leg.

"Thank you." Was all he said.

In response the Guardian curled her massive tail around her two Supreme Beings with a mixture of protectiveness and love.

"Woah, big momma." Harmony said, touching the warm and polished steel.

The Forgelings had been on their own for several years following their making. And initially, the draconic man in another life had no intention of adding anything else to the forge. At least until through her herculean diplomacy, Harmony secured the Celestial Uranium used to make Entropy, resulting in the Caloric Stone. Harmony and Woodsolution had entrusted the Caloric Stone to Lurk. They had entrusted the making of The Citadel's most powerful protector to him.

With that glittering crimson orb in his grasp, inspiration had struck his brain like a casting of [Saturn's Needle]. And he knew in his heart of hearts what to make.

More than a crafting character, or another creation to take on the role of craftsmen, or blacksmith, they needed an NPC to encapsulate their guild and time spent in Muspelheim. No matter what game the three played, Lurk, Harmony, and Woodsolution were always Black Sky Legion. Yet the time and money put into YGGDRASIL was a special experience. One that no game had ever managed to recapture. There were other role-playing games. Other fighting games. Other shooters and strategy and simulations, yet there was never another YGGDRASIL.

There were many lofty races, jobs, and classes which attracted the egotistical. The highest tiers needed to be unlocked through events, quests, or special items. The Caloric Stone was the key. With it, a whole new tab of racials and classes buried in menus and game interfaces were at Lurk's command. He had only the flavor text to go on. But this was after his hunt for Entropy. The riddles of the game were laid bare to him.

Lurk remembered his hands... His claws... Shaking when he finalized the Forgemother.

Turning, the Forgemother brought her head down to Lurk. He lifted his claw for her. And with gentleness belying her ponderous bulk, the dragon touched her nose into his palm. The spice of heated brass and copper hung about her like a perfume. Though she dwarfed him, Lurk rubbed her snout just like he had the Forgeling. The boiling Relic Iron bubbled between her cobalt horns while the metal satellites rotated sedately in their orbit. A pleased rumble vibrated the ground and the Forgemother smiled as she pulled back and resumed her regal posture. Lastly, she lifted her tail with a happy wave now that she had gotten her own attention.

With the surety of the forge secure, the gamer couple moved on.

The circular vault door to the treasury itself was a several feet thick and adorned with the sun and sword crest of Black Sky. It irised open at Lurk's contact and closed automatically after the monarch crossed the threshold.

At the top of the stone staircase down into the impossibly vast underground cavern, they had the perfect view out into the vault.

It was less a treasury, and more a desert, with every grain of sand a coin or jewel. Dunes formed of the world tree stamped gold discs. Piles of data crystals arranged by color. Columns of stone reached to the ceiling were festooned with hundreds of relic weapons and armor. At the zenith of the mountain dome was a set of blazing solar crystals to act as an artificial sun much like for the Arboretum.

Being real, it was now an unfathomable display of wealth.

Lurk broke their silent awe.

"We haven't been in here for... Years. Damn, it's strange to say that. There must be more gold here than all the gold back on Earth. No, way more than that. What could we have done with all this? Could have bought anything we wanted." Lurk threw his arms wide, a covetous longing making his mouth salivate and tongue shift uncomfortably.

"Woohoo!" Shouted Harmony as she jumped off the ledge into the nearest pile of gold. She crashed into the coins with a carefree laugh. Stray pieces flew far and wide in a fountain of flashing coins. They came back down in a melodious rain of currency. A wave of dislodged coin flowed down the hill.

Waist deep in the pile, Harmony dug her claws elbow deep and threw them up, laughing freely as currency fell back and bounced off her horns and got lost in her hair.

"C'mon hun!" She called up to him.

"Hup!" Lurk plummeted like a stone and threw up an eruption of coins with his impact. Up to his thighs, Lurk was awed. Scooping up a double armful of gold, the clinks of the tree and Valkyrie coins musical to his hearing. Falling forward, he pressed his whole body against the pile of gold. Stretching out his arms and burying his snout, he was lost in the wealth.

A rapturous bliss settled on the Wyrmblood. His bones and scales sang with the hoard and its majesty. Hooded eyes feasted on abundance. It folded around him. Surrounded by a cocoon made of treasure, he idly wondered if his racial was kicking in again.

Crawling across the mountain so she did not sink, Harmony laid beside her lover and flicked coins onto his back with a happy hum. Lethargically, Lurk rolled onto his side. Relishing the weighty coins sliding and shifting, he looked at his wife with a new appreciation for the gold flecks in her scales. Surrounded by riches, his perception shrank until he only knew Harmony. Even all the contents of the treasury paled in comparison with her. Their eyes met, and Lurk was lost within the scarlet eternity he found there.

Just as the draconic greed sank its fangs into his blood and brain over the unfathomable riches of the treasury, the avaricious pull settled on Harmony. The desire, the need to place his mark on her, possess her and her love was a heady sensation. Drawing on that passion, he wanted Harmony to know, to understand the depths of what he was feeling. No words could express the bottomless want. Only action.

Although his scaly muzzle was not as good as actual lips, he still pressed his mouth against hers.

"Mmm!" She let out in surprise as he kissed her, then leaned into it. Pulling his wife down to lay with him, Lurk embraced her for all he was worth. When he kissed her, she kissed him back. When his arms locked around her waist, hers draped over his shoulders. When he squeezed her tightly to his chest, wishing that she knew just how his heart beat was a drum that set the rhythm of his love for her, she squeezed back.

"What got into you?" Harmony whispered, nuzzling into his cheek. She rubbed his chin over a goatee that was no longer there.

"Just wanted to show you how much I love you." He said, taking a deep breath filled with her wild mane of red hair.

"Aw, I love you too, handsome." She giggled.

Keening in barely constrained libidinous craving, Lurk's claws roved over her back and down her tail. Giving the top of her extra appendage a brush, his wandering touch slid to the private underside of her tail.

"I think I know what you're after." Sitting up, Harmony relished just how badly her husband wanted her. She turned on her knees and gave him a flirtatious wiggle.

Lurk sat up as well and cradled his wife from behind. Moving her hair out of the way, his hot breath and even hotter tongue down the back of her neck. He laid wet kisses with his tongue and snout down her vertebrae. The one directly at the base of her neck was one of her weak point. As he lavished the erogenous area, a breathy moan escaped from Harmony's lips. His pants became unbearably tight. She was the finest instrument, and he knew how to make such music with her. With the right strokes and keys pressed, Lurk could make her sing.

His claws found her breasts, first fondling her through her shirt. He cupped the modest globes in his palm, tugging on the rings in their soft cotton covering. Although she had not designed her avatar to be the bustiest, her cup size was perfect to Lurk. Familiar. He wanted more. Tickling her hips, he lifted the hem of her shirt and reached up to feel her skin directly. Lurk inhaled sharply and lost himself in her scent and body.

In his blind groping a short claw hooked through the ring in her stiff nipple. Tugging on the erect bud a bit harder than he meant to elicited an unexpectedly wonderful cry of helpless pleasure. Wearing a mischievous grin, Lurk did it again. The dragoness thrashed in his embrace, trying to escape the pleasurable torment.

"Ah! Honey! Honey! Too much. Too much." She begged, slapping her claw over his to keep him from tugging. Panting, she was overcome with the tingling in her womb. Confined in his pants, Lurk's iron hard rod pushed against Harmony's tail. The female flagged her tail high in invitation and the male hugged her close. Pressing his covered cock into the underside of her tail and butt, Lurk groaned in need. Tremors ran down Harmony's spine, aftershocks transferring through to her chalice and making a certain place clench in anticipation.

Reluctantly, Lurk released Harmony's breast to pull his pants down and let his manhood spring free. Sighing in respite, he hooked his thumb through the waistband of her comfortable bottoms. After he pulled his wife's shorts down below her haunches, his cock found the gap between her thighs. Knowing exactly what he wanted, Harmony spread her legs enough to let Lurk's iron shaft grind against her cunny. Once her curvaceous thighs cradled his manhood, Harmony gyrated her hips. Using her silky skin to stroke the draconic tool, her vulva settled onto the top of Lurk's cock like a perverted ballet dancer on a barre.

The motion made her arousal drip down her inner thighs like honey off a comb. The slick feminine juices soon coated Lurk too, forcing a groan from him. Harmony giggled at how much her husband was enjoying her shapely rear and stacked hips. She shuddered under the assault on her senses. The body she occupied as a Scarlet Drake was so much more receptive than her older one. Colors were so much more vibrant. The dunes of gold coins glittered like an ocean. Provocative traces of her sex and musky maleness invaded her nose.

And it got wetter too. Back when they had been human, they had used lube a lot because of Lurk's girth and Harmony's body had not always kept up with her desire. If she wanted to bend over and have a quickie, she wanted to have a slick hole on offer for her husband. She only had trouble getting her southern region slippery on short notice, but her hairless sex was like a faucet. Lurk could have gotten inside and pounded her raw then and there.

However, Harmony had too much fun being an enormous tease. She pulled off of the gigantic tool riding her petals. Stepping out one leg of her shorts, she turned and fell back into the coins with a melodious clink. On her back facing Lurk, the woman spread her legs invitingly. Lurk's mouth practically watered with burgeoning lust. Adorably posed, he drank in the sight of her, buds poking through her shirt and pajama shorts hanging off one ankle. Naturally her cherry slit was tantalizing him with the promise of burying his tool in her molten sheath. The male eagerly slid between her thighs once again.

Gems and data crystals speckled the piles of gold. A perfect oval sapphire the size of a chicken egg lay off to one side in easy reach. Lurk picked up the gem and rubbed it up her thighs. The cool, glassy jewel glided along Harmony's intimate flesh. On her back with her plump petals spread, her own gold flowed from her sex and pooled in the crease of her tail before dripping onto the coins below.

"How's that?" He asked, rubbing the priceless gem into the buried bundle of nerves at the top of Harmony's sex.

Lurk had his sights riveted to the hooded ruby swimming in the gold. The glittering sapphire made her nub seem all the more appealing, glistening with her aureate juices. Watching the stiff bud peak out from under its shy hood was mesmerizing. Another delight was lifting her shirt up and over her bosom so her breasts would drop free. It was a visual feast on par with the gourmet offerings they had left behind. His free claw found her chest, massaging a soft globe. Dexterous digits squeezed gently and again found the jewelry hanging from her stiff bud.

"Mmm, it's nice but kind of a tease. It's so smooth that it's slippery." She wiggled her hips, yearning for something with a little more friction for her needy clit.

"Y'know it might be fun to get a bunch of jewels or coins and fill you up, then have sex with your treasure chest stuffed." He rubbed slowly, making little circles and varying the pressure he applied.

"Fuck you, you're not stuffing me like a turkey. Though that does sound pretty hot. Mmm, would you like that? My pussy full of jewels while you fucked me?" Harmony reached beside herself and grabbed fistfuls of coins. She let the coins drop onto her breasts and belly, spilling down her cleavage.

"It does sound... Enticing." He growled as his cock twitched. "I mean, some would call it a coin slot." Lurk's stuck his tongue out at his wife as she turned even more scarlet than normal. After one more stroke, he guided the sapphire lower.

"Do not call my pussy a coin slot!" She scrunched her arms into her bosom, inadvertently gathering up a small pile of gold onto her chest. Harmony shooed away the groping claw, coins spilling down onto her toned belly.

"Can I make a deposit?" Lurk nestled the sapphire just inside her entrance, her petals held open by the gem. Normally she was pursed so shyly closed that only the thinnest hint of crimson inner labia peaked from her buxom mound. With the palm sized gem halfway into her sex, the brighter crimson of her slit formed into a teardrop, the small O of her pussy contrasted exotically against the opaque blue.

"Or are you my golden goose going to lay me an egg?" He relentlessly tormented, keeping the glassy toy firmly in place no matter how she wiggled in protest. He had mastered the art of making her into a songbird of embarrassment. He felt her trying to push the jewel out of her sex with her pelvic muscles, but he pushed back, enjoying dipping the small oval gem in and out of her honeypot.

"Do not push that all the way in, mister. You'll get it stuck in there. I'm the one supposed to be teasing you." While Harmony was enjoying herself, she wanted him.

"I could blindfold you and make you guess what I'm putting in you. Rubies and emeralds and some of those special pearls from the lava lakes. I bet those would be nice and warm. Then, whatever you guess wrong, you have to keep inside you. Then I get to give you an extra filling. Call it buried treasure." Lurk got off far too much on his wife's squeaks of protest, pushing the sapphire almost to its widest point. Just an extra quarter inch and the improvised toy would slide beyond Harmony's puffy entrance into her swollen ruby channel.

"You are such a pervert! So help me, Lurk, the... Things that go through that lewd head of yours. Do you just sit around thinking of this stuff." Harmony pouted, nudging at his forearm.

"No, you're just too much fun. It's not my fault seeing your pussy full of jewels is only beat by your pussy leaking my cum while full of jewels. My queen deserves only the best."

"Okay! Okay. Fine. I'll let you do it. But not right now. Now, I want you. Please?" She demurely blinked at him over the swell of her chest, piled high with gold.

"Since you asked so nicely..." Letting go of the Sapphire, Lurk let the jewel slide free of Harmony's flushed petals and tossed the honey-dipped gem aside. Grasping his manhood, Lurk moved up between her legs. He stroked his tool through the channel of her sex. Her plump lips hugged the shaft rubbing her velvet inner petals. Collecting her juices onto his cock, Lurk guided his tip down until it snagged the entrance to her sacred depths.

Even with the talon-curling foreplay, he was too girthy to plunge all the way to bedrock in one go. Though that did not stop him from sinking until her lips snagged tight through friction. Bit by bit his thrusts grew deeper, collecting a bit more of her slick aureate fluid and getting further with every push. Lurk moved his claws up to Harmony's knees and set a steady pace. The entrance of her sex gripped him tightly even as her yielding tunnel provided the perfect sheath. Hard as steel, he luxuriated in the plush furnace pulsing around his manhood.

At the same time, Harmony lavished in the feeling of the coins pressing into her haunches as her cunny had something nice and thick to fill her. Her chalice reveled in Lurk's penetration. She had been with her husband long enough to have the shape of his length ingrained in the muscle memory of her sex. Now though his draconic spear and her scaly sheath were exotic and new. Yet her Scalebound pussy knew him by the way he tugged on the fragile bottom of her tunnel, and where he nestled right against the entrance of her womb.

That extra push when she thought he had bottomed out sent a jolt to her nub.

"You've got just a bit less squish now." He said, trailing the tip of one claw through the hills and valleys of Harmony's abdominal muscles. Then he bent low over her. "But you're still very soft where it counts." He growled, hungrily swirling his tongue in the hollow of her throat. Although he would definitely miss her cushion, her human body, he loved her all the same.

No matter what form either of them took, they would love each other just the same.

The wonderful scent of sex and sweet mango mixed with the spice of her draconic blend between scales and skin. This perfume spurned Lurk on. As his pace got faster, his hips slapped harder against hers. Every thrust rocked her body. Shockwaves traveled up to make her breasts bounce. The rubies tied to the rings through her pebbled buds flicked up and down. Just the small weight tugged on her sensitive breasts. Harmony cried out in shock and delight, covering her bosom to keep the body jewelry from pulling her nipples too much.

Her back arched, causing Lurk's cock to ram hard into the end of her tunnel. Each time his base came flush with her mound, a jolt of current traveled from the smooth muscle of her cervix to her nub. Whenever her flower was stretched to its widest by the thick root of Lurk's member her petals were forced much further than the tiny sapphire had, pulling back the crimson hood and exposing her ruby clit.

She left one arm covering her breasts and reached the other down to play with herself. The Scarlet dragoness took two fingers and rubbed fast, small circles as her honey flowed freely around her digits and the manly length rearranging her insides. As soon as she touched her nub, her insides tightened around around the invading length. The broad ridges that ran down the underside of his spear tugged deliciously along the walls of her sex. Harmony relished the chance to clamp down and push back, making Lurk force her walls in and out with every thrust.

Harmony savored the unyielding force crushed against velvet vice and forced her spread open regardless of how her pussy fought. Her haunches were rammed into the coins beneath her with musical clinks. The depth and ferocity tickled the muscles that cradled her chalice, making her stomach clench and flex. Starting at the base of her tail and traveling up her spine, an electric current of ecstasy turned her body into a writhing conduit building towards heights of bliss she had only dreamed of.

Lost to the sensation, given over to his instincts, Lurk plowed the lovely sex toy that squeaked cutely every time he pushed particularly hard.

"Don't stop... Cum... Cumming!" Harmony cried. Her tunnel spasmed, then seized up as she came. Lurk kept pounding her shape into the coins below as Harmony's world went white and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her walls cinched taut around the invading length holding her open.

His pace did not slow an iota as the sound of their union became quite a bit squishier. Though Harmony paused in rubbing the ruby nested at the zenith of her flower, the carnal onslaught kept her nub stimulated. As her first climax died away, another quickly rose, boiling over. She just held the tips of her digits into her crimson folds, putting pressure on her clit as her husband hammered her delicates. The jolts of ecstasy pushed her to a second climax before the first had fully faded. A long cry was drawn from her full mouth as Harmony screwed her eyes shut and shook like a newborn fawn in the throes of orgasm.

This time, Lurk did slow, watching Harmony's heaving breasts rise and fall, the rubies on the end of her nipple piercings roll across skin covered in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat.

Overcome with the desire for closeness, Lurk let go of Harmony's knees and laid fully on her. He sank his claws through the piles of gold beneath her, hugging the unutterably beautiful woman. Deliberately pacing himself to luxuriate in her, feeling as though silk ribbons wrapped around his manhood. Dark red length disappeared between buxom petals. Brighter crimson was dragged out with each pull, her velvet cunny snagging on his ridges. He buried his snout in her neck even as he thrust himself at a steady tempo. So enraptured, he became lost in where he ended and she began.

Panting, Lurk raised his head to look at his wife. Her cheeks were a flushed cherry red, the scales on her face catching the light cast from the sun crystals at the top of the treasury. The yellow light reflected off the gold and gave her spots of light. Her bright white canines winked as she breathed heavily, chest rising and falling against his. Harmony felt the hammering beat of Lurk's racing heart through her bosom.

"I love you, my Harmony."

"I love you too, sweetie." She said with a playful giggle. Lurk launched on a tirade of sweet nothings. Muttering and moaning her name. As Lurk's mouth hung open in rapture while burying himself in his sumptuous wife, she took the chance to use her long tongue. Their tongues danced with carnal desire.

"God honey, you feel so fucking good." Her legs wrapped around his back, smashing the head of his manhood into the end of her tunnel. Insides straining, soaking wet velvet walls pulled taut, Harmony wiggled her hips. "Right there. Cum right there." She begged, knowing his weakness just as well as he knew hers.

A few more shallow thrusts were all the more he could manage before climax overcame him in a torrent of pleasure. Once the floodgates were open, Lurk could not stop until he was spent. He exploded within her molten depths, painting her walls white. Harmony bucked her hips up to receive her gift of draconic essence. Every pulse of cum down the pronounced underside of Lurk's cock felt like he was balls-deep in her throat rather than lodged in her lower lips.

The way his cum splashed and pooled, suffusing her womb with its warmth reminded Harmony of some of their particularly involved sessions back in their old world. Her human body had been cursed with heavy, irregular cycles, and Lurk was her consummate companion for many reasons. Whenever her chalice would curdle with unrelenting cramps, he would ease her twisting insides with a good, long, hard pounding. He knew to wear her out and leave her a quivering, cum-drunk mess to appease mother nature. And of course it was just a happy bonus that he got to rut her raw, replacing one soreness with a much better one.

It was this same satisfaction that thrummed in Harmony's Scalebound body. The comfort was familiar. Also familiar was how Lurk twitched and shuddered on top of her, jerking his hips by inches to use her pussy to squeeze the last drops of seed from his length. Accidentally ramming himself into the end of Harmony's tunnel caused her to clench yet again. All the extra pressure forced his cum to splash into her cervix.

Easing down, Lurk let his manhood gradually grow soft on its own. Pulling his cock free, Lurk groaned and rolled off his wife onto the mountain of coins. Harmony moaned as she was uncorked and her liquid contents shifted not unpleasantly. She covered her mound with a palm, feeling the heat radiating from her well-used sex. Cum pooled in the join of her thighs and tail, but she was far too euphoric to care.

For a few minutes they lay together in perfect afterglow.

As he reclined in the pile of gold, an idea occurred to Lurk. A uniquely draconic urge gripped him.

_I wonder if this'll still work. Is this a good idea? Probably not_.

"Hey, sugar, I'm gonna try something." Heart beating fast once again, Lurk stood.

Still basking, Harmony only nodded.

Being heteromorphic, the Ancient Incarnate had another form. Reaching deep within himself, Lurk found his transformation. Back in the game it was as easy as tapping a button and waiting a few seconds.

It was as though he was stretching a strange muscle. One that the more he leaned into it, the further it went. Like a taut string, he felt tension coiling in his extremities. Lurk could let the pent up energy go all at once and burst his other form forth. He was curious though. So he took his time, reaching the point of highest strain, then easing it down.

Wings unfurled from his back and snapped open with a leathery flap. As he relaxed, iron spikes slid from everywhere except his face, neck, and belly. His tail lengthened and thickened and became significantly heavier as large concentrations of spines emerged in thickets down his back and slid between the scales. He shuddered a bit at the strange feeling. The only equivalent he could find was imagining he was bending his knees backwards, or that his elbows had suddenly become ball and socket joints. Not painful or directly unpleasant, yet bizarre all the same.

Everything became much smaller as Lurk grew in stature. Shaking himself like an overgrown dog, the Ancient Incarnate rolled his shoulders. His joints popped loudly as the transformation finished. Lurk stood on his back legs, adopting a very Skitharix posture. Like a prehistoric Earth dinosaur, he could switch between a quadrupedal and bipedal stance. He examined the curving scythe talons meant to maul or heave long metal spines as javelins. Instinctively he could sense the number of attacks he could make. How many spines he could grow. The unique spells and abilities his other form unlocked.

"This is so fucking cool." He said, then put a forelimb over his muzzle upon hearing the deep bass of his new voice.

"Wow, hun. You picked that, didn't you?" On unsteady legs, Harmony rose to her feet and had to crane her head to look up at her husband. Lurk had not used the form in a long time.

"The Ancient Dragon Incarnate racial had a few options for lineage. The Iron Conqueror seemed like an obvious choice. It synergized with Tetragrammaton Cleric and my other gunnery classes." Aiming his arm like he would any other gun, Lurk felt the reassuring solidity of the metal spines. "The cooldown on this stuff was always stupid low. I just stopped using it as much because once we had The Citadel I had all the ammo I could have wanted. That and I overused the shit out of it."

Many racials eschewed the ability to use equipment at all, thus bypassing the need to gather data crystals or ores. This also meant that those avatars had hard upper limits to their damage and abilities.

"You really went all in with the ranged thing." Harmony commented. She had dedicated herself to handling the tank role so that Lurk could pursue his passions. Happy coincidence had her fall in love with being the center of combat.

"In the early days of our YGGDRASIL time, gun making and ammunition was expensive. Magic had daily limits and I couldn't always make weapons to keep up with our levels. It's still good for burst damage, and has extra hit points and regeneration in case you need to take a break on the front." Lurk continued to stretch muscle and sinew as it ran across lengthened bone.

There were no true playable dragon races back in YGGDRASIL. And although his Iron Conqueror resembled a bizarre draconic monster, it did not benefit from the bonuses and levels only available to dragon raid bosses or the highest level mob spawns.

What he lost in agility and attack, he gained in physical defense, hit points, and special armor that had to be chipped away. Natural spines could be weaponized to great effect. That and the added health and armor pool let him take the heat off of Harmony if she ever needed to switch off tanking for a while. Though even with his guns, the Iron Conqueror had access to certain abilities that remained useful no matter how much stronger his firearms were.

"Watch out, sweetheart. I don't wanna squish ya." Lurk set down on all fours, careful not to land on his wife. Although nowhere near as large as some of the other forms he could have picked, Lurk was still three times her size.

Harmony quickly shuffled out of the way.

Walking on four legs was actually not as strange as Lurk thought it would be. He moved a bit down the pile, then dove in nose first. Wiggling his snout, the Ancient Incarnate felt like a real dragon as he buried himself in his hoard. Despite its weight, the gold shifted easily. If he could have melted into a puddle then and there, he would have. Unable to contain himself, he moved like an underground serpent, burrowing through the gold until he emerged out the other side of the mound. He rolled onto his back and wriggled his entire body, feeling coins slip between his spines and glide against his scales.

Giggling as the pile beneath her rose and fell, Harmony met Lurk on the far side. Shedding her clothes to stand gloriously naked along the way. Her talons slid down the small incline in a wave of coins into Lurk's side. Harmony climbed onto his stomach and rubbed her bare bosom along his scales. The body jewelry dragged along him, tugging on her pert breasts. A broad, salacious grin split her cheeks.

"What are you doing, my darling dearest dragoness?" Lurk rumbled in delight, genuinely curious. He looked down to the sexy and suddenly smaller female crawling on him. A fresh stirring roused his dragonhood to attention. Though he had cum once already, his other body had not, and his flaccid length grew hard quickly.

"Holy mother of cocks." She said as she made her way to Lurk's erect length. "I know our bodies have... Functional parts. I was... Curious what you were packing."

Shimmying her rump up, she pushed her crotch against the thick base of his draconic member. Pressing her hidden nub against the dark red manhood, she gasped at the heat saturating into her. She pushed the tree trunk cock against her belly and squished her breasts around Lurk. Harmony's talented hands knew exactly where to touch. She stroked her hands up and down the pronounced ventral bulge along the underside of his member.

The head was so big she could only just get the whole end of the tool into her mouth. Her long tongue corkscrewed a bit further. Lurk moaned and shifted his hips as Harmony's warm maw enveloped the end of his spear and her digits worked him over. His Iron Conqueror body was sensitive and he shuddered as he sank into the gold beneath him.

"As much fun as it would be, I don't think that's gonna fit inside you, sugar." He rumbled in a deeper tone.

"Ah!" She gasped, popping the cock free of her mouth. Her tongue hung loosely, connected for a moment with strings of saliva to the virile member. "Yeah, it would definitely be fun. You'd be wearing me like a condom. That's actually really tempting to think about. Oooh, and you'd cum so much in me."

She ground the lips of her sex against him, plump and engorged from the thorough pounding she had taken earlier. It was such an erotic thing to her, that Harmony could not help but lean back a little and sneak a claw down to her nub and rub while she pressed her puffy sex against Lurk's shaft. She kept his virile monument against her cunny with her free claw. Lurk was not the only one with a dragon fetish. The reason Harmony had climbed onto the belly of her husband was with full intention of doing unspeakable things with and to an oversized cock.

The exact scenario that was playing out, with a fair maiden pleasuring her dragon captor, or lover, atop a mountain of gold? Deep-seated fantasy that much like her entire life lately, had become reality.

Moaning and writhing, Harmony let her inhibitions fall away and wanted to make sure she had no regrets. Tail twitching and flicking, she gave Lurk a show even with her back to him. She found her sweet spot and did not relent. Surprising even herself at how turned on she was, Harmony reached her peak quickly. It was always easier to cum after the first time. Even easier with a toy as thick as her arm to rub herself on.

"Honey! Lurk! I'm gonna... I'm gonna ah!" She cried, digits furiously working over her clit as she mashed her hips against the huge draconic spire. Her calves nearly cramped with the intensity as she came. Female cum came gushing forth as Harmony exploded all over Lurk's crotch. Her scaly pussy almost winked with aftershocks as she leaked a double handful of built up honey.

"Aw, my pent up little dragoness. Did you gush?" Lurk purred, setting his forelimbs behind his head to recline in the lap of luxury.

"Sh-sh-shut up." Harmony shuddered. "I... Whew... Can't... Remember the last... Time... You made me... Squirt." She said breathlessly, trembling from repeated orgasms. Even shaking and unsteady from her own mind-blowing climax, Harmony gathered up her all natural lubrication and slicked Lurk's shaft in liquid gold. Harmony worked Lurk over with a frightening amount of skill.

"New meaning to 'riding the dragon'." She said with a giggle, polishing his spear with gradual strokes. As Lurk moaned throatily, pride made her chest lighter. "I still don't think I could handle even part of this monster. You'd have to really warm me up."

"What, that doesn't turn you on?" He hummed. "We did get that oil from Loam. Even if you couldn't take it very far, I bet you would melt if I put 'that' in your butt. Especially if I filled that cute little ass of yours with cum." Lurk chuckled as Harmony cried in embarrassment. He knew all her weak spots.

"I'm not a size queen, thank you. That's more your thing." She deflected even as her cheeks burned.

"Maybe not, but you do have a thing for size _difference_. I've found your porn stash more than you found mine. You could come over here and give my new tongue a try." Lurk flicked a tongue whose girth made Harmony's womb clench just looking at it, unable to resist glancing over her shoulder. "You could sit on my face and we could have a good ol' time." He teased.

"I just came super hard, and the idea of taking that thing in either hole is just way too much. Besides, you're pretty much proportionate to when we were human, so if you want anal, mister, you're gonna hafta earn it."

Though it did give Harmony cause to wonder. Her old body never took to anal as much as she would have liked. Her favorite thing in the world was to have her husband's fat cock jammed to the hilt in her ass, preferably filling her rear with slick, slimy jizz, her butt was not cooperative. Except for one very memorable night, it was always too painful to bear, or make a regular habit. It was her secret dream to be able to let Lurk pick whichever of her holes he wanted at any time. Preferably starting with her mouth, then her pussy, then finishing in her rear. Just being a banquet of pleasures and sensations on offer for him to use and relieve himself of his manly burden as he saw fit.

Though she knew one of his favorites was when she used her hands. They only did it rarely because they both preferred to have Lurk sheathed inside her in some way when he finished.

The buttermilk smooth skin of her chiseled abdominals and pillowy breasts stroked his length. Her gyrating hips kissed her sopping wet sex against his root. The warm spot at her core kept the base of the massive tool company. She knew he was close to cumming when she felt his entire body tense up underneath her. Her claws circled around his length, rubbing his shaft with the shameful, slick juices she spilled earlier. His cock became hotter as she stroked faster down the bulging ridges along his length to urge him on to release.

Lost in the helplessness of his climax in the literal claws of another, Lurk eagerly raised his hips and succeeded in only lifting Harmony on his crotch. Writhing in desire and at the mercy of Harmony's claws, he could only moan and heave his loins. He begged to be touched more with the motions, and chased his high.

Clenching his jaws, his powerful stomach muscles seized as his orgasm rushed free.

His first spurt of cum sailed over Harmony's shoulder to splash onto his abdomen. The second pulse went about half as far. And the rest erupted from his cock with weaker pushes, covering Harmony's breasts, running down her cleavage. The rest dripped down his length to pool with their collective cum between Harmony's thighs. Thick dragon seed coated her front. Harmony could not hold back her moans of delight at the sheer eroticism of the act. She had been secretly hoping to be adorned with strings of pearls, and was not disappointed. A claw found one of her pierced pebbled buds while the other reached down between her spread legs. Two digits slid through the gooey cum and dipped the mixture into her sex. The feeling was simply divine. A soothing tingle suffused her over-fluffed petals.

She did not want to cum again, her clit was actually sore from her earlier abuse. The dragoness only wanted to enjoy the afterglow and think that next time she would absolutely have to try and get him to finish inside her.

"Now this... This is a mess." Harmony stated both proudly and tiredly. Strings of male essence connected her to the massive tool.

"Could get... A maid to come clean it." Chuckling weakly, Lurk's brain was consumed by afterglow.

"I think if one did, their hearts would explode. Just... Give right out." She trailed off for a moment and realized as fun as it was then, having that much cum all over her would not be nearly as enjoyable once it started drying. "Hold on. I've got an idea. Because there are not enough towels in the fucking world for this. Need like... A Divine class towel." Harmony muttered as she reached into her inventory for a scroll. "Aha!" She said, unrolling the parchment.

"[Clean]." She spoke and the scroll floated up and disappeared as it snapped back into a tight curl. The bucket's worth of dragon jizz as well as her own spilled honey evaporated in a few seconds.

"Fuck yeah, magic." Lurk smiled faintly, still euphoric from the whole ordeal.

"That is handy. Hell yes." She flopped onto her back, untidy red hair spilling out over a spotlessly clean burgundy stomach.

"Why did you even have that in your inventory?" Distantly pondering what wondrous items lay hidden among his cavernous inventory, Lurk sighed. It was delightfully opulent to lay on a mountain of gold with a sex goddess lying naked on his chest.

"Fuck, hun, I don't remember. I think it was a drop I meant to dump off but forgot to." Reluctantly, Harmony slid off her transformed husband. Stretching with her arms high over her head, her knees and elbows popped. "C'mon sweetheart, We still need to check the guild item."

"You're right. You're right. Do you think our racial made us extra horny or something? Would be kind of hilarious if it did." Shaking off the coins among his spikes, Lurk shifted his form back to his normal body. Without drawing out the shift, it only took a few seconds. He adjusted his magically reinstated shirt and glanced sidelong at his lovely Harmony.

"We might just be horny bastards." She noticed exactly how closely he was inspecting her and covered her important bits with her claws.

"It's because you're so sexy." Lurk reached towards his wife, unable to resist her naked body so fresh and ready for another romp among their hoard.

Harmony popped her wings out and shot off like a rocket to escape the licentious advances of her insatiable husband. As Lurk launched himself after her, he hooted in freedom and delight.

Flying would never get old.

The monarchs of Black Sky Legion sailed over the ocean of YGGDRASIL currency on leathery wings. Their treasury had one central landmark. Tucked among the gold, data crystals, and armory columns, was a lake of crystal pure water. At the center of the underground lake, was a tiny island covered in standing stones and emerald grass, dominated by a single tree. The twisting trunk climbed high into the air with the sweeping branches giving shade to the petite isle. Rather than leaves, the tree sprouted with hundreds of thousands of scales that were shades of red ranging from scarlet to maroon. Light was refracted and bent off leaf-scales as if they were stained glass.

Lurk and Harmony both alighted on the island, grass rustling under their talons. While Harmony headed to the guild item, Lurk simply looked around. He took in the sights with new eyes. Everything was so much sharper, more detailed. Placid water sluiced against the rocks and the leaf scales clinked together in a melody of nature. Like a massive wind chime, the music of the tree sang with the resonant air currents of the treasury itself.

Two pedestals of unadorned marble sat innocuously by the tree.

Harmony rested one claw on the side of one, staring at the item it held and into another place and time. An amulet rested on the smooth stone display, depicting a crimson dragon curled nose to tail covered in intricate black scrawling runes.

"Pact of the Red Dragon." She said in reverence as Lurk joined her to stare at the world item.

The pinnacle of the Scalebound heteromorphic racial was a transformation that enveloped the user's avatar in an augmented suit of draconic armor. The power and protection of [Apex Shift] was incredible, though temporary. Charge for the skill had to be built up through combat. Damage taken and given. Harmony had meticulously gathered rings and other pieces of equipment that could extend the duration or hold charges for her racial ability. Pact of the Red Dragon gave a similar buff, focused more on offensive claws and breath attacks. Through controlled testing, Harmony had discovered that the Pact of the Dragon stacked with [Apex Shift] and molded her into a weapon of terrifying potential.

"It was the first World item Black Sky ever got. And it was pure luck." Chuckling, Lurk shook his head at the absurdity. "I remember that lottery. Woodsy paid real money to buy a few tickets from the cash shop. There was a teensie tiny chance you could win a World item. There was so much backlash against the devs. Paying for bullshit like cosmetics was one thing, but a World item? It was obvious the shitty devs were just seeing what they could get away with without infuriating their player base."

Lurk rested a palm on her lower back, just above her tail.

"And by Surtr's flaming nipples, he got a World item from that stupid lottery. I'm still glad to this day they didn't announce who won that round or else we probably would have had to have stopped playing." He squeezed the base of her tail in reassurance.

"Then he just said he would probably never use it and gave it to me. Wood always did have the most insane luck. Do you remember when he got Lucifer's Eye from Demon Slayer Eight?" She smiled at the memory. Though her heart nearly skipped a beat, she scooped up Pact of the Red Dragon in her claw. Just to make sure it was real.

"He would have given that to you too. You needed it for your broadsword." Lurk remarked even as he moved over to the other marble display. Just like the other plinth, a lone item rested on top. It was a single-action Colt army revolver. The kind featured in old western media. The revolver did not appear extraordinary on the outside. Just burnished steel parts with polished sable-dark grips.

"What I remember, is you getting Deschain for me." Seeing the weapon sparked a covetous twinge, and he could not resist the call to at least touch the gun. Unlike Entropy, soon after he had learned about the pistol, Lurk had given up on ever obtaining it. While the gun did not do much in the way of damage, there was no avoiding it. No magic, armor, or resistance could diminish or dodge the bullets once fired.

After replacing Pact of the Red Dragon, Harmony stood with Lurk and provided her own insight.

"We never chased World items like some guilds did. I had a few chances to pick some up from our allies. But it never seemed worth it for something that would just sit in the vault. I'd rather have a few metric tons of Scarletite or Celestial Uranium." She recalled once seeing a World item reach into the trillions the few times one had made its way into the public auction space.

"But you still got Deschain for me." Lurk smiled with a small jab of guilt.

"The game was in decline. Guilds would go bankrupt because people stopped playing. Their stuff would go up for claim. Whoever got there first would get most of the items or they would be auctioned off. I kept watch on the guild that owned Deschain. Even though you weren't playing with me anymore, I still remembered how much you wanted it. It was special. One for you. One for me."

After tapping the cylinder to reaffirm its existence, Lurk turned and touched his nose to Harmony's.

Then together, they turned to the tree itself, their guild item.

Three names were carved in the ebony bark.

Lurk. Harmony. Woodsolution.

The usernames were preserved with the same clarity as the day the trio had bound themselves together in the heart of The Citadel. YGGDRASIL was not the first, nor the last game that Black Sky Legion had been a part of. That had been their clan, their guild, their company, tribe, alliance, fireteam, and squad for many years. As it had been, as it was, and always would be. Even then, the two remaining members of Black Sky Legion were irrevocably linked to their guild item. Only they were allowed free movement through the halls of The Citadel. All others had to use the teleportation network.

There were two kinds of guild items; equipment, and utility. Equipment came in many shapes and sizes. Weapons. Staves. Even armor in a few cases. But they could be lost, or stolen, though offered god-like power.

Then there was utility. Items that provided global abilities to the entire guild. Utility options were only rarely used because it required an implicit level of trust between players. Any guild member could use the item, but it required a unanimous vote from all other players. For Black Sky, their scaly tree allowed one of them to assume a special form once a day. More than either Lurk or Harmony's heteromorphic abilities, the guild item of Black Sky Legion gave them the [Dragon Ascendant] boon. The transformation lasted only for ten minutes before being put on a twenty-four hour cooldown.

With a contented sigh, Harmony sat down in the grass. Soft green stalks tickled her rump. She patted her thighs and Lurk could not say no to that invitation. He sprawled out beside his lover and was careful not to stab her with a horn as he laid his head in her lap.

"So, what should we be doing?" Lurk voiced a troublesome thought which had been gnawing at his brain.

"What do you mean?" Sweet as a honeyed mango, she blinked and gave him a smile worth more than all the Nova Crystal of Muspelheim.

"Do you think we should be meddling? We're like aliens giving computers to primal man who just discovered fire." He asked even as he reached up to caress his wife's lips. "Every day I fall in love with you all over again." Lurk said reverently, enamored with the way Harmony's facial scales glinted in time with the Black Sky tree framing her features.

"If we have the power to change things for the better, are we obligated to?" His tone was low, full of uncertainty.

"I don't think we have to if we don't want to... But generosity can be just as damaging as negligence. So, let's be smart about it. I asked earlier, but do you regret helping Kadusia?" Harmony challenged again.

"No, of course not. Innocent people were going to be killed and a city would have suffered because of greedy shitheads. Are we in a position to change the world?"

"Look at what we can do, hun! Magic... Magic is real. And so is The Citadel. We're kind of like time travelers, in a way. We've seen what can happen to a world... Everything here is clean. I never knew what real air felt like to breathe. Shit," Harmony said, looking up at their guild item. "How many real trees do you remember seeing back on Earth? They were practically extinct."

"I don't want this world to become like our old home. But I want to keep The Citadel safe. I want to protect it. I want to see it thrive. Not just survive."

"Remember, sugar, we're under no obligation to do anything. We're free. The only limits are those we impose on ourselves." Harmony put her claws on either side of Lurk's head and rubbed just above where his horns sprouted from his temples.

"Have you thought about what we'd do if we meet other players?" Lurk's jaw tightened unconsciously. A thin breath whistled between his teeth as he forced himself to relax.

"Shit," Harmony succinctly expressed.

"On that last day, even though it was a celebration for YGGDRASIL, it was practically a dead game. Even the top guilds didn't have more than single digits in active players. If we came through. If tier magic is here, there's no telling what, or who else came to this world with us. Let's look at this logically, assess the possibilities."

Lurk ticked off his digits.

"Either they transfer with a guild, or without one. Less than a third even belonged to a guild. Even in YGGDRASIL's prime. That's ideal. We've got all the Guardians. Even the best World Champion was only good for maybe five or six level hundreds at a time. If they were dedicated to maintain a guildhall after twelve years, then they've got to have that attachment. You and I both know that inter-guild conflict can ruin both sides. All out war is the last thing anyone would want. Taking The Citadel would take an army of players. Do you remember the Dive-Aholics-Anonymous?"

"They were a shit guild." Harmony scoffed.

"Yeah, a shit guild that took four days to siege. We had them from the beginning with numbers, resources, and determination. The Drunken Elves and Big Boys had a serious bone to pick with the Dive-Aholics. In the end, the Dive-Aholics went bankrupt and then got steamrolled. The raid was pretty much textbook." The Ancient Incarnate

"True. But their counter raid against us went... Poorly."

Now it was Lurk's turn to scoff.

"Fucking cowards couldn't even attack us while we were online. At least they wasted a metric shit load of gold on summons. They picked us because they thought Black Sky Legion was only three people."

"They got past the fourth floor." Harmony cocked her head to one side.

"No, we checked the logs and they lost all their mercenary summons going through the first and second floor, ran past the third, then tripped down my hidden path to the fifth."

Harmony laughed at the visual of the last member of the Dive-Aholics raid team running away from Skitharix and falling backwards down Lurk's trick stairs. Mind grinding through the different scenarios, the King of Black Sky felt he was close to a conclusion.

"A world is, and isn't, a big place. If players transferred then I'm sure we'll hear about them soon. We need to get out there and explore. We need to get dialogue open with the other kingdoms on this continent. If we've got these feudal kingdoms talking to us, it'll give The Citadel a buffer. The humans are... Just humans here. Normal... Weak humans. Fuck that's weird to say. But it does make sense. I mean, what would a regular person do against something that was even level twenty? Level ten?"

"Even a level twenty could probably go on a massive killing spree through any normal human town unless someone of equal level was there to stop them. I bet Lord Chickenbomb could peck through most of the Kadusian army. Hell, the Caliber Court would be like gods among men." She giggled, and filed away the idea of unleashing Feathery Doom upon their enemies.

"We need information. And you just gave me an idea for something I was planning. I think it'll be a good way to get several things done at once."

***BSL***

Three-Thirty-Eight Lapua Magnum made a solemn vow that if she had to clear one more house basement of giant rats, she would simply skip the basement and burn the whole thing down. She made this assertion as she considered the progress made by her squad.

The Neverborn and the rest of her entourage emerged from one of the old, monster infested forests on the outskirts of Kadusia. Even in settled lands, the nature of the world meant that everything that went bump in the night found residence somewhere. Usually where it could prey on those who strayed too far from the light of civilization. To Lapua, it was only natural that spawn points near cities had a constant supply of missions and loot.

A Silver Knight broke her reverie.

"Lady Lapua, you don't think the Seekers will raise objections to us taking on assignments we are not high enough station?" The Silver Knight asked.

"Of course not, bucket head. They would not dare give offense to the Lady." One Silver Knight smacked the other with the flat of his spear.

"The request for Chimera... Parts... Was open ended. General contract. We just happened upon one or two, and defended ourselves. Happy circumstance that it was meant for Master Seekers to supply the magical collegiate with components. This should be enough to raise our rank to True Seekers. There are no Adept level contracts for escorting caravans over the mountain pass, after all." Lapua waved a pair of hands dismissively, certain that the gains far outweighed the rebuke for taking something above their rank.

"At least they made for a good lunch. Too bad the hearts were listed in the components. The things had three of 'em." A Demi-Claw licked his chops and the other reptilian Sharpshooters nodded in agreement. Although the Silver Knights could not eat, nor need to, they still enjoyed the aroma of the roasted animal.

"Judging by what we've seen, I'm sure they were top of the food chain. They probably had easy pickings of cows and pigs along the forest edge." Lapua opened her notebook and scribbled a reminder to herself to obtain a copy of the bestiary from Cognitio.

"I thought they were a bit gamey. The goat wasn't bad, though."

"The one that Lady Lapua slayed was nice and tender."

"Explosives make the best tenderizer." The Demi-Claw smacked her fist into an open palm.

"No arguments there."

"Lady Lapua, can we get some beef hearts, maybe?" A Demi-Claw begged.

"Our coins are precious right now." The Neverborn admonished.

There was a communal groan of disappointment. Lapua's mouth teased a smile.

"Tell you what, as soon as we can afford our own embassy, we'll have a feast. So the faster we establish trade and get those escort quests, we can establish our embassy and utilize the Seekers to facilitate regular contracts through the mountain pass. Tariff tax for passing through Black Sky land, and protection fee. Remind me which contracts we're bringing in?"

The Sharpshooter with the list of their errands held it up to examine.

"Let's see, we cleared out those two barns, five houses, and that basement of giant rats."

"Please don't tell me it's more rats. I swear I will burn down every rat infested house in this whole kingdom before I go in another musty basement." Lapua stated with a shudder of disgust. It would have been easy to simply go into the animal minds, yet she could not stand the idea of touching the vermin in any way. Even psionically. Her proclamation did get a collective chuckle out of the group as they trod along the dirt road back to Kadusia's northern gate. Golden wheat a few days away from harvest swayed in the autumnal breeze.

"Did someone grab those Balm Leaves?" Lapua asked.

"I've got them, Lady Lapua." A Silver Knight held up a burlap sack.

"Toad horn?"

"Yes, Lady Lapua."

"Ogre ears?"

"Here," Another Knight held up the ears all strung together that were proof of the extermination quest.

"Hobgoblin liver?"

"Definitely not eating that, so yes." A Demi-Claw held out the wet bag at arms length.

"That was all that we needed to do out here, right?"

"I believe so, Lady." Said the Demi-Claw with the list.

"From here, let's try to focus on contracts that pay out platinum. That seems to hold the highest value and exchange rates of the differently recognized currencies. It seems most of the struck coinage originates from that northern kingdom. Orza, and its Silver Barons. Most seem to regard them as quite... Hoity." Lapua consulted her notes as they walked.

"Lady Lapua..." One of the Sharpshooters cautioned.

"Don't worry. I know they're there." The Neverborn nonchalantly held up a clenched fist and the column halted with a snap.

Around forty outlaws stood from their hiding places. They had gone prone in the ditches alongside the road and among the fields of wheat. Several had blades, while many more pointed knocked arrows or aimed crossbows at the squad of Black Sky soldiers. They were a raggedy lot, with old cloaks and a mix of brigandine and gambeson. Their leader stepped out into the road before Lapua with an easy swagger. Two more bandits emerged and pointed primitive wands at Lapua in what they believed to be a credible threat.

"You're the ones who killed the Bandit King! You'll pay. The bandits own this land. Not Kadusia." The surprisingly young man drew his blade and raised a kite shield.

Lapua ignored the man. She had no desire to entertain the man with monologuing about the futility of his efforts.

"Killing you should give us quite the reputation boost. But not without witnesses. Hm." Lapua tapped her foot, then snapped several sets of fingers. "Aha! I'll give you to the city guard. I'm sure you have all kinds of juicy tidbits in your brain meat. There's no contract, but I'm sure you're worth something."

The leader raised his blade to signal his men to make ready to fire.

With an off-handed gesture and a flare of her halo, Lapua froze the man mid flourish. He stood like a gladiatorial statue as his men milled about, suddenly aimless. Though his body was frozen, his eyes darted around in fear as he became little more than a passenger.

The bandits outnumbered the away team four to one.

Not wanting to waste time, Lapua summoned exactly that many magelocks. One for each bandit except the designated survivor. The multitude of floating guns swiveled to each target a different outlaw and shouts of alarm rose from the bandits. The two lowly mages were the smartest among the bunch. They cut and run, abandoning their frozen leader.

"[Faceoff]." Lapua cast.

Dozens of heavy cracks layered on top of one another, then a deafening bang echoed through the trees. Decapitated with large bore musket balls, every bandit fell no matter how they ran or hid. Still frozen, the leader floated along in Lapua's Psionic grip as the squad resumed their march.

Lapua consulted her notebook and flipped through her pages of scribbled information. Much of it was speculation and rumor. However, the day was getting late, and she wanted to make sure she delivered her findings in a timely manner. While she and her team were making their way back to Kadusia was a good opportunity.

[Message]

_Lord Nox?_

_Ah, Lapua Magnum. I don't think we've ever had the pleasure of speaking directly._

_Correct, Lord Nox. I have a report to deliver on this world, Kadusia, its people, as well as information regarding the surrounding kingdoms. Are you free to receive my report, sir?_

_I'm a bit preoccupied. However, your report is important to High Lord Lurk and The Citadel by extension. I'm sure you've gathered a great deal of intel and I'll be happy to hear your findings in their entirety so I may brief Lord Lurk._

_Yes, sir._

***BSL***

_In summary then, I believe establishing ourselves in with the merchants of the land trade routes will be key in making the kingdoms dependent on us. We need to simply lay out the cost of further caravans lost to the bandits of the mountains as opposed to contracting Black Sky to provide escort._

_Your suggestion of using the money you're collecting through these Seekers for a Black Sky embassy intrigues me. I shall inform Lord Lurk that your idea has my vote. How do you think the other kingdoms will react to us?_

_I... Worry on that front. Though I am hesitant to voice any concerns that may cast doubt as to my certainty of our glory. The glory of Black Sky Legion._

_Speak to me, Lapua. You would not have been entrusted by High Lord Lurk with your mission if he did not have trust in you. Do not worry on that. I will judge whether your concerns are valid of passing along to our Lord._

_Of course, Overseer. I do not wish to withhold anything from you, our Lord's shadow. Even if it is only speculation._

_Continue, Lapua._

_By skimming the surface thoughts of the Kadusians, I can tell that they are immensely grateful for saving them from the Bandit King. Our warm welcome by a Queen that the people love also helped assuage the mood of the city. However, beneath these sentiments are undercurrents of paranoia and xenophobia._

_We are dealing with humans. You know how they behave stupidly around their betters._

_I worry that without gratitude instilled in them already, the reactions of the other kingdoms might be unpredictable. Though he did not tell me directly, the mind of Warren Reese informed me that Queen Ismeena Belgrave sent messages via magic and physical missives about us to the other members of her Coalition. I intercepted one, and although it urged the others to cooperate and be open, strong subtext urged caution. Outwardly they are polite, but they are hesitant to trust us. Our power frightens them. I've made sure to exercise great restraint, per the word of our Holy Lord._

_It's only natural they are wary. Our King and Queen were wise to aid Kadusia against the Bandit Whatever-he-thought-he-was. He made a much prettier stain than he did a human. Keeping them certain that we are stronger than they are, while still being benevolent will foster compliance. As long as they're smart. Based on your report, Ismeena seems to be a shrewd ruler. Let her think that our good nature will give them diplomatic clout to use._

_Helping them costs us nothing other than my time, Lord Nox. And I believe so far it has paid back good dividends._

_Right you are, Lapua. High Lord Lurk and Lady Harmony have no peer. Their wisdom shall see The Citadel take our rightful place in this new world. And it is the duty of we Guardians to make sure they have the information to guide us._

_Thank you, Lord Nox. You are an echo of our Holy Lord's wisdom. That finishes my report for now, sir._

_Excellent, so am I._

_Excuse me?_

_Perfect timing is all, Lapua. I can pass your findings along to High Lord Lurk directly. Continue your work with these Seekers. Kadusia can be an advantageous beginning to Black Sky's dominance of the region._

_Until the sun burns out..._

_And Black Sky comes._

[End Message]

Back in The Citadel, Nox pulled his generous manhood out of the poor Lamia he had been ravaging with a wet pop. The Guardian stood and put himself back in order before buckling his pants.

Nestled in the V where the Lamia's buttermilk skin met black and orange scales, her flushed sex leaked a thick mixture of fluid from their salacious affair. Her breasts spilled from the lacy bodice pulled below her shoulders. The intimate cream of her skin was peppered with love marks and her pink buds were puffy from being lavished with attention. The skirt of her uniform was hiked up above her serpentine hips, smooth midriff and well-used flower on prominent display.

He had cornered the maid, pushing his needy girth against her. Then sealed his lips around hers in kiss of such intensity and desire as to make the Lamia's feminine core melt. It had only been a matter of time before Nox's roving hands had reached the flower hidden beneath the black and white maid outfit and found her delicates slick and ripe for his pleasure. Once firmly seated, he had pounded the shape of his manhood into the heart of the Lamia's femininity.

Despite being interrupted by Lapua's message partway through, Nox was excellent at multi-tasking. That and the distraction had let him last a bit longer.

"Mmm, that was magnifique, monsieur Nox. Though you seemed rather distracted as you finish-hey! Where are you going?" The maid cried indignantly, covering her modesty as Nox threw open the curtains of the alcove they had been hiding in.

"Sorry darlin', duty calls. Thanks for the quickie." Nox returned his pointed helm to its rightful place with a spin and a bow, making sure to keep his eyes locked on the maid as her petite hands left little to the imagination.

"You are a fripouille, monsieur Nox! A blackguard of the highest order!" She decried the Guardian, turning her nose up at him with an indignant 'hmph!'.

Nox flitted forward like a wrath, putting the tip of his index finger beneath the Lamia's chin and drawing her slitted eyes to his own.

"Such uncouth words from such a pretty mouth. Although... I know what these lips can really do." Nox stated, brushing his thumb along her lower lip. "Maybe you can... Persuade me of the error of my ways sometime later."

At the mention, her forked tongue flicked the air, tasting the fresh air as it mingled with the heady mixture of sweat and sex. Though her hands were occupied covering her breasts and lady bits, her tail reached up to slap the Guardian for his behavior. Just as the blow landed, Nox disappeared into the shadows of the alcove.

"Eep!" The maid cried as her tail hit nothing but air. "A real gentleman at least would have gotten a lady something for the mess he left." The Lamia sighed.

Making all due haste, Nox flitted through the dark as a wraith. He of course knew that his Lord and Lady were in the treasury with absolute certainty. As much as he would have liked, the Guardian had to go through the forge first.

Upon entering the massive crafting chamber, the Forgemother knew Nox was there before the Shadowkin was even able to form from the swirling dark.

"Nox, what brings you to the forge?" She rumbled with the constrained heat of her furnaces. The Forgemother had actually been cozily daydreaming about how the gold of the treasury was in a way an extension of her body and the... Intimate details about what her creator and his mate were doing with the jewels and coins. Avatar of Metal and Imperitor Titanica let her know exactly what and more importantly, how they were doing it. From multiple angles.

"I have a report to deliver to High Lord Lurk personally. I sensed his presence in the treasury." Nox stated, squinting against the bright light of the forge. He waited at the entrance out of respect for the area's Guardian.

"You are correct, Nox. However, High Lord Lurk and Lady Harmony are rather occupied at the moment." She purred with enough force to vibrate her throne of pipes and conduits.

"I'm sure that High Lord Lurk will be very interested in the report he expressly instructed me to deliver to him." Nox furrowed his brow against the glare and in consternation.

"Well, I could certainly check." The Forgemother coyly offered.

Rather than answer, Nox crossed his arms and tapped a foot impatiently.

The Forgemother took another peek in time to see Harmony with an especially... Girthy problem between her legs that she had to use both claws to get a grip on.

"Believe me, Lady Harmony is assisting our Holy Lord in a very hands-on issue. You know there are some things that require a delicate feminine touch."

"I am the Guardian overseer, and you are obstructing me from performing my duty to our High Lord." Nox was not used to being denied.

"Half the Guardian overseer." The Forgemother corrected, wagging a talon back and forth.

Nox sputtered and tried to come up with some counter-argument. Huffing and muttering about finding his brother, Nox sank into the shadows once more.

The Forgemother settled atop her dais once more with a contented rumble. She considered resuming her observation, but thought that perhaps it would be rude to intrude on the intimacy of her monarchs.

Well... One more look would not hurt.

***BSL***

"Look, just help me, okay? I need you for Corona Nox." Nox begged his brother.

Crisis rolled his eyes. Though he was mute, Harmony had given the Guardian a plethora of emotes.

"Lord Lurk wanted Lapua's report on her findings in Kadusia given as soon as it came in."

Much like a mime, Crisis made the outline of a box, then lit his invisible square on fire.

"Semantics." Nox scoffed. "I would never intentionally interrupt our Lord and Lady to potentially get secret information to sell to the rest of the Guardians."

Making a show of stomping out the imaginary box, Crisis then gave a 'ta-da' style wave of his hands.

"Alright, alright, you made your point. It's not urgent enough to bother our King and Queen while they're inspecting the treasury." Leaning in, the brother spoke in a soft, conspiratorial tone. "But if you help me, I'll make it worth your while."

Crisis leaned back and jerked his chin up for Nox to proceed.

"I know you have the hots for-"

Crisis firmly stomped on his brother's foot.

"Ow! Unnecessary. Just talk to her! I mean, I know I'm the handsome one. But some of my good looks and charm must have rubbed off on you." Nox struck a pose with fingers trailing off the edge of his helm while he turned to one side to show off his profile.

With his fingers Crisis made an air quotes gesture.

"Now you're just being rude."

Once more rolling his eyes, Crisis pointed to Nox, then back to himself.

"I know we're twins. I'm just the better looking one. The ladies can't resist this charm." Nox put a hand to his chest and gave a mock swoon.

Staring in egregious disdain, Crisis drew a straight hand across his wrist.

"Edgy? Where did you learn that? Such language coming from my own flesh and blood. What would poor impressionable Wrath and Ruin think if they heard so much vulgarity? It would corrupt their poor, innocent minds."

***BSL***

With the knowledge imparted by Lapua Magnum's report, Lurk had spent a late night formulating his plans.

The next morning, the Wyrmblood stood before the gates of The Citadel with the Caliber Court assembled.

The broad shelf of mountain that led to the front doors of The Citadel was bustling with activity. The ground had already been smoothed in preparation for proper laying of concrete foundation. Nymphs from the Arboretum were molding the terrain with their druidic abilities. Demi-Claw gunnery crews coordinated with the Nymphs to make earthen bulwarks that would provide temporary positions for Hellhammer artillery until more permanent fortifications could be made. Even though the sight lines of the Alpha and Omega bunkers were long, they were nowhere near the maximum effective range of the Hellhammers.

More groups of Demi-Claws and a few Flayers with their Tailoring were hard at work outfitting five Greater Wyverns with equipment for their journey. Before the first battle against the Bandit King, simple saddles were all that had been necessary. At the onset of longer, potentially much more hazardous journeys, simple leather saddles would not cut it.

Heavily reinforced, the larger saddle could carry the entire expeditionary team.

Attached to the harness were massive rust red armor. Segmented lines of plate covered the top of the neck with broad-link chain loosely covering the throat. A molded plate protected the tops of their heads, the protective helmet molded around the sweeping horns but left the jaw free to open, bite, and unleash their breath attack. The largest single piece of the ensemble was the breastplate, needing to be hoisted by Flayer spells.

Relic Wyvern armor was equipment that Black Sky Legion had in bulk. After all, Wyvern Nest Peak back in Muspelheim was one of their favorite hunting areas. In fact, it was such a routine drop that Lurk usually just recycled it with the Forgemother. Mounts back in the game were sought after commodities, and outfitting them in stylish gear was mandatory. It was not the Relic armor that was difficult to obtain, but the cash shop cosmetic transmuter that was so low in drop rate. No one would be caught dead wearing the unaltered set, despite it being functionally the same.

However ubiquitous it was, equipped to a Greater Wyvern, the Relic level items would repel most attacks, and were imbued with numerous buffs. [Sustenance]. [Lightweight Cargo]. [Sensory Boost]. And numerous damage resistance enchantments that raised the Greater Wyvern's natural own racial immunities. Even weaponry rated as Legendary would have great difficulty damaging them. Only Divine items could confidently cut into them. And if the enemies of Black Sky Legion had access to Divine... Or worse, then The Citadel had bigger problems.

Final checks were being performed. Straps tightened and supplies double checked.

Neither Lurk or Harmony had ever bothered to equip any of Greater Wyverns with the gear back in YGGDRASIL because it had been time consuming. They had grown rather complacent in the old days. No incursion had ever reached beyond the fifth floor. That and they enjoyed the natural blend of ashen grays, reds, with various shades of orange typical of the Muspelheim breeds.

But now every resource was precious. Especially the living.

The away teams were comprised of six Silver Knights, four Sharpshooters, two Corsairs, and one Painlord. In addition to the level ninety Caliber Court member. The Greater Wyverns could carry a large compliment of troops, but Lurk kept the groups compact. Though he did add more variety to try and insure the away teams were in theory able to handle multiple different scenarios. Both because of supply, and smaller, elite units were easier to maneuver than armies. And also not larger in number than could be easily teleported to safety in an emergency.

The remaining five of the six members of the Caliber Court stood ready with their cohorts.

Lurk stood before the Greater Wyverns, the squads, and the Caliber Court with his claws clasped behind his back to give off an air of professionalism. If he was to lead, he wanted to exemplify what qualities he hoped were admirable in a leader. Confidence with arrogance. Pride without hubris. Decisiveness without folly. It would be a tightrope. Fortunately he had Harmony to keep him honest and sane.

"Your mission is to explore and understand this new world." The Wyrmblood panned his gaze as each team stood at attention.

Lurk knew that it was going to be a risk, entrusting such an important task to what had been once just NPCs. Lapua had been an experiment. One that he was pleased with thus far. The Ancient Incarnate had high hopes for the rest of the Caliber Court. Although their data and racials had dictated much of their personalities, the depth of loyalty the denizens of The Citadel had displayed assuaged most of worry about defection festering in Lurk's heart. The Caliber Court had been a collaborative effort between Lurk and Woodsolution. An experiment in different, sometimes wacky builds they had devised.

The skull-headed Ten Gauge was the leader of the Caliber Court, and the first that Lurk addressed.

"Ten Gauge, your goal is north, to the city-state Orza. According to Lapua's report, Orza is ruled by a council of powerful families that control the valuable metal deposits in the mountains and are known as the Silver Barons. Kadusia sentiment holds Silver Barons to be arrogant and haughty. They seem to run their city more like a business than anything else. Approach accordingly. Get an audience with the Barons, but promise nothing. Present as allies and potential investors. Harmony and I will handle the rest."

The Wendigo had his tower shield planted on the ground, one arm resting on its edge. His other was held to his heart in salute. Ten Gauge had the eponymous Doom Slayer class, with his tri-barrelled shotgun holstered on his hip. His noble outfit was mostly stock, except for the high, fur-lined collar of the coat.

"It will be done, High Lord Lurk." Ten Gauge clicked his bony jaw and inclined his head in reverence and awe.

After the Wendigo, was Three-Fifty-Seven Magnum.

The diminutive Kobold wore a petite outfit and carried large pistols. For her size at least. She did not wear a chestplate like her fellow Court members did, instead opting for greaves and vambraces. Over her white doublet was a black leather vest criss-crossed with bandoliers of shells. Her waist and hips were festooned with a complex harness holding her paired double action revolvers.

"Mags, your objective is to determine the whereabouts and temperament of the nation supposedly hidden in the southern jungle. Do not try and make contact until we know if there are people living there. Fly high and keep things covert. The jungle is so far from Kadusia, that most people Lapua has interviewed have little to no knowledge of it."

The ashen gray Kobold gave a sharp salute and an eagerness glinted in her cat-like yellow eyes.

"If there is anything to be found, Mags will find it yes-yes! Treasure and glory for High Lord Lurk and Black Sky yes-yes!"

Smiling, Lurk nodded and turned to face the next.

Seven-Hundred Nitro Express was certainly the most well-dressed and definitively posh Minotaur in all the worlds. What elevated him above all the other Victorian era Minotaurs was without a doubt, his monocle. Though the top hat certainly added to his flair. Nitro's tailcoat could have easily clothed a family of four and his silver cuirass could have outfitted an equal number in armor. His big game rifle stood as tall as he did, and had a massive bayonet in the form of an axe blade.

"Nitro, to our west spanning the ocean coast is the Oxelan nation. Some of the most important trade on the continent goes through their ports. It is vital that we get on good terms with them. Be diplomatic. If you're attacked, try to use non-lethal defense only. Withdraw to a safe distance and contact us."

"Leave it to me, High Lord, m'yes. They would have to be savages to see your invitation as anything other than natural. Your terms are obscenely generous, m'yes." Nitro guffawed at the mere idea of anyone being crazy enough to refuse Black Sky's invitation. "I shall honor Lord Woodsolution, m'yes. I carry his honor in every breath I draw, thus I cannot fail!" Nitro declared. Fives and Grendel nodded in affirmation. They were each created by Woodsolution. Meanwhile, Gauge and Mags bowed their heads in respect, products of Lurk's hand and mind.

"Very good." Lurk affirmed. Tail already wagging in anticipation, Five-Five-Six twirled her Rifle-Spear over her head before planting the butt of the weapon into the ground. She held up the half-skirt of her dress and curtsied in the manner of her courtly station.

"Fives, your mission might be the most delicate. The city-states of Kadusia, Orza, Oxelan, and Deeka have been in an alliance, formally known as the Coalition to defend themselves against the Heymon Empire. Deeka occupies a region of immense strategic importance. Scout the area as well as any conflict that might still be going on. I want to know about the armies of the Coalition and Heymon Empire. What are their numbers? What are their weapons? Magic users? Do not contact Deeka until we have firmer footing. Ideally with the other members of the Coalition. This appears to be an ongoing conflict that mostly simmers during the winter, so now will be a good opportunity."

"If necessary, do I have permission to enter Heymon territory?" Fives replied with absolute seriousness.

"I'd rather you didn't, but if it's unavoidable, make sure you stay at high altitudes. If you can, actually, get a cursory estimate of Heymon population and production. In drawn out conflicts, its often the one who has the stronger economy that emerges on top. We need to know what the Heymon are capable of if we're to negotiate from a position of strength with Deeka."

"I understand, Holy Lord. I will not fail you." Fives curtsied once again.

Lurk regarded the last member of the Caliber Court.

Last, but certainly not least, Six-Five Grendel was of a demi-human avian race known as the Kraku. The black, white, and silver of her Court garb accentuated her ebony feathers. Beaded platinum necklaces and charms hung from her person. The Rocket-Bow she carried was one of Woodsolution's personal creation.

'Wood, there's no Rocket-Bow weapon class.' Lurk had foolishly declared, only for his guildmate to demonstrate its flare and obscenely destructive power. Woodolution had cackled like a mad fiend and left the weapon with Grendel. Somehow the Rocket-Bow fell under both the Greatbow class as well as the truly bizarre Rocketry class that no one in YGGDRASIL ever took seriously.

"Grendel, the north represents an unknown. The kind of unknown that no one returns alive from. It's vast. It's uncharted. And could potentially host a great danger to The Citadel if rumors are to be believed. I'm afraid you'll be going in blind. Proceed with extreme caution. Anti-scrying enchantments are paramount. Just as I told Mags, do not attempt to contact the natives unless there is no choice. Just try to find who lives there, and what their strength is."

"What shall I do if zee natives are hostile?" A faint slavic accent peaked through Grendel's speech. Something superfluous that Woodsolution must have added to her character information.

"Same rules of engagement apply. Try to establish peaceful relations. If it comes to a fight, you're clear to use any means necessary to defend yourselves. In case that happens, message The Citadel immediately."

"Zee heavens belong to Black Sky. Soon zee rest shall know it too." Grendel declared.

Nodding, Lurk panned his gaze and began to pace back and forth.

"We have been thrust into this new world on the eve of the death of the old. Black Sky Legion's place in this new world depends on your actions. Be smart. Be decisive. Be vigilant. Carry our flag with pride." His voice boomed off the mighty door at his back, projecting forth like a natural amphitheater.

The assembled Caliber Court stood straighter and puffed their chests out. All around, activity slowed or stopped to better hear Lurk's next words. A small part of him felt silly. That he was just spouting meaningless fluff like a con man. But it meant something to them. And he remembered always wanting a leader to do what he was doing. Looking at the Court, the Greater Wyverns, the Demi-Claws, Nymphs, Plague Elves, and Flayers, knowing that all eyes were on him, his next words were meant for everyone.

"Within every single one of you, is the strength of your brothers and sisters. Never forget, even if you stand alone, you are legion."

***BSL***

**Author's Notes:** Well, it took a little while, but I think the length of this chapter speaks for the reason.

I hope you enjoyed this snippet, gentle reader. And I hope you're hungry for more, because believe me, the story of Black Sky Legion is far from over.


	9. Ocean Breeze

Though a much longer flight, Oxelan was still within easy reach by way of wyvern wing.

As Nitro Express signaled for his team to land before the gates of the sprawling oceanic settlement, he reflected on his mission. Knowing what he had to do, and seeing the high walls of the old city were two different things entirely.

His High Lord had impressed the importance of tact and diplomacy. They needed to establish favorable relations with the people surrounding The Citadel. Black Sky was sandwiched between the rich, sweeping plains of Kadusia and the port city of Oxelan. Securing the mountain pass which saw such a large portion of the continental trade was only half the battle. Getting goods moving through Black Sky territory would mean nothing if they did not benefit from it.

Even before the Greater Wyvern had landed, Nitro leapt off its back. Full of energy in anticipation, the Minotaur paced back and forth as his away team quickly assembled behind their leader.

Nitro addressed his squad Painlord and indicated their Greater Wyvern.

"Wait here, my good man. Keep our enduring friend company as he takes a well needed rest, m'yes."

The Construct inclined its smooth head and planted its poleaxe in the ground to watch over the valued member of their squad. Nitro then turned to address his entourage.

"The rest of you, with me. We're here to do a job. So, shoulders back, heads up, and let's show 'em Black Sky's finest, m'yes."

Doing as instructed, the squad got into modest formation as one of the Silver Knights hoisted a banner with his shielded brothers at his back. Smiling in satisfaction, Nitro turned and lead his soldiers.

In order to succeed, Nitro knew he would have to utilize every gallant and refined bone in his body. Lord Woodsolution had made him to be the perfect gentleman. So after he dismounted the Greater Wyvern and approached the monumental gatehouse on hoof, Nitro threw his arms wide and projected his voice loudly enough for the city guard up on the walls to easily hear him.

"Hello! Good people of Oxelan, I am pleased to be the emissary of Black Sky Legion! Take me to your leader!"

***BSL***

[Message]

_High Lord Lurk, Nitro is requesting your aid with the Oxelan situation. He says its urgent sire. He's with the Oxelan king, but has encountered something rather... Difficult._

_Oh sweet Muspelheim. What happened?_

_He would not say, sire. Just that he needed you to join him in negotiations. Nitro stated he was sorry to bother you, but that he would not have reached out if he did not feel it vital to the success of his mission._

_Very well, Nox. Let him know that we'll [Gate] straight there._

[End Message]

Lurk and Harmony rushed through the doors to the worn, but still serviceable keep. It sat on a rocky promontory overlooking the sea, protected by a blocky gatehouse which overlooked the narrow path up a long drawbridge. Ocean breeze, crashing waves, and noisy gulls mixed together to the point where they could all but taste the salt even as they stepped out of the portal Lurk had summoned.

Though it had taken a bit of practice, both were able to equip their weapons and armor at a moment's notice. The technique had taken more un-learning the reflexive use of the old menus. Harmony wondered if it was alright to let themselves become so used to the new world. Her mind was always lingering on the potential consequences of becoming too comfortable with something. Her many old jobs had taught her that.

Grand Alliance hugged her curves in a protective cocoon. Wearing the armor with her new senses was like being blind and seeing a friend for the first time whose voice she knew so well. Ebony and Ivory always had a reassuring weight on her hips. Now their handles seemed to warm at her touch. Harmony did not grip the haft of Ebony, though her claw never strayed far as they approached the inner doors of the Oxelan castle.

They heard a great commotion and what seemed like shouting. Lurk and Harmony had outstripped the gawking Oxelan castle guards with their long legs. Most of the poor men were too stunned at the pair's appearance through a magic portal to even bother to follow.

Harmony's nose wrinkled as she detected... A seafood boil?

Lurk threw open the doors to the hall.

The rulers of Black Sky entered into the hall to see Nitro arm in arm with the king of Oxelan at the end of a long banquet table, mugs filled with rich red wine as they swayed back and forth singing bawdy sailor songs. A seafood feast of respectable size was arrayed along the table. Nitro and the king sat at its head, splashing liquid from their mugs as they made merry. The Minotaur's monocle hung from its chain and Nitro's tophat sat skewed on the king's head. The Sharpshooters of Nitro's group raised their own wine and thumped their fists on the table while the Silver Knights kept time by tamping the butts of their spears against the stone floor in rhythm with the song.

Meanwhile, the two Corsairs were dangling from the chandelier. Their legs were hooked through the ceiling fixture as they each downed their drinks while upside down.

"Ox man, Ox man, tell me what ya see out on the wa~ter."

"Ox man, Ox man, tell me what ya see out on the wa~ter."

"It's a meeermaid there with 'er tail a wa~ving."

"No it's an old hag with 'er teats a swing~ing"

"No, it's a fisherman whose line's a pull~ing"

"No, it's a barmaid with 'er skirts a li~fting."

"Ox man, Ox man, dive out there and see!"

Upon finishing the last line of the song, the pair broke into laughter. The modest assortment of human waiters and guards clapped heartily.

The king of Oxelan was an older man with a round belly, a receding hairline, and a white beard that was a bit of a mess, but still well maintained. His cheeks and nose were flushed bright cherry in color, contrasting his tanned exterior.

When Nitro spotted his Supreme Beings standing dumbfounded at the other end of the table, he shot to his hooves and slammed his mug against one of his bull horns as he attempted to salute with the hand holding the vessel. Silver Knights snapped to attention and two of the Demi-Claws saluted with their mugs as well, dousing themselves in drink. The two Corsairs transformed into emerald flame, fell through the table and reformed on either side of it, already bowing.

"High Lord! Fair Lady! Thank you for coming so quickly. As you can see, we are in dire straits. It would be an affront to my station, nay, negligence of an unforgivable degree to not insure you partook of this impeccable celebration, m'yes."

"Aha! You two must be- woah!" The portly bear of a man stood to welcome his guests and grew just a bit too tipsy and would have fallen completely if not for Nitro's quick save. "Thank you, Sir Nitro."

"My pleasure, m'yes." Nitro Express gave the stout old king a gentle slap on the back that almost knocked him forward.

"Ha! So you both are the High King and Queen of Black Sky Legion I've been hearing so much about. It's Oxelan tradition to welcome guests with the bounty of the ocean." The King swept out an arm to indicate the platters of seaweed wrapped fish, clams, oversized crawfish and hunks of crustacean thicker than a man's arm. "The sea may be cruel sometimes in what she takes, but she's generous with her gifts when the mood strikes 'er. My people honor the Sea Goddess, and she in turn takes care o' us."

The portly man gave a boisterous laugh.

"And where are my manners! I am King Wojak, of the salty land called Oxelan. As my father before him, and his father before him."

"Greetings, King Wojak. I'm Lurk, of Black Sky. It's a pleasure to meet you." Lurk looked to wife.

"And I'm Harmony, of Black Sky. Thank you for your hospitality." Harmony looked at the seafood with a greedy purse of her lips.

After introductions, the two went around the table to shake hands formally. Only once the monarchs were all seated, did Nitro and his squad resume their own.

"We're glad to meet with you in person, King Wojak. The Citadel overlooks a mountain pass that we understand to be very important between Oxelan and Kadusia."

"Aye, aye, Nitro's already mentioned where your home is. I'd be more 'n happy to knock some heads in the merchant district to get some formal trade and all that salt squared up. But that's boring! Now is the time for feasting. Then I'll show ye around a real city. Not like those prissy Orza starched-collar-platinum-stick-up-their-ass salt suckers!"

Lurk and Harmony laughed politely along with Wojak's tirade.

Although Lurk helped himself to some flaky pink fish that was at once tuna and trout in taste, he stared at the platter of giant crab legs and slid it over to Harmony without taking any for himself.

"Don't be shy, King Lurk. The Karkinos is in season!" Wojak motioned to the oversized hunks of crustacean.

"I wish I could." Lurk looked forlornly at the steaming hunks of meat swimming in butter. "I'm allergic to shellfish."

"Oh, shell fever! Ah, ye poor soul. Is it of the skin? I have some excellent alchemists who can brew ye a potion fer that ailment."

"Throat, actually." Rubbing his neck in recollection of when his symptoms first developed. "I used to love oysters when I was younger." The Wyrmblood heaved a long suffering sigh. Though of course, he had not considered magic or that his new body might not have the same affliction. Regardless, he did not want to take the risk.

"High Lord, forgive my failing." Nitro stood and bowed his prodigious bulk until his nose nearly scrapped the table.

"You didn't know, Nitro. Please, don't stop on my account. Harmony has always enjoyed things for the both of us." Smiling, Lurk waved away Nitro's concern, and the Sharpshooters that had frozen while stuffing their muzzles sheepishly resumed.

King Wojak looked to Nitro, then back to his royal visitors.

"You've got a loyal warrior, here, King Lurk. I wasn't sure about ye lot. I'd heard about Black Sky from the messages from Queen Ismeena, but wanted to reserve judgement until I met ya. If there's one thing an Ox man knows, it's things aren't often as they seem. Ye can be sailin' clear waters that capsize yer ship before ye know east from west, or sail straight into a storm that makes way just for you. Maybe the storm washes treasures ashore. Or monsters."

The Oxelan King cracked open a the lower part of a Karkinos claw large enough to encircle a full grown man without making eye contact with any of his guests.

"So, the message from Queen Ismeena also told me about your timely arrival in helpin' Kadusia with the Bandit King." Wojak's lip curled as if he had eaten a bit of rotten Karkinos. "For that alone, Oxelan owes Black Sky Legion a debt. Kadusia was not the only kingdom to suffer from that bastard. The bandits would go into hiding during the winter, always strikin' out when our armies were away. If they couldn't steal our wine, they'd burn our vineyards outta spite. But no more!" King Wojak raised his mug as a toast.

Picking at his fish, Lurk felt a bit left out. Feeling guilty and not wanting to spoil her fun, he looked at his beautiful wife. Harmony smiled back, flecks of bright red crab meat blending in with her crimson facial scales. The wedded pair entwined digits and bumped noses. Lurk took the opportunity to squeeze Harmony's claw twice. It was their secret signal that they were socially exhausted or wanted to get out of a situation.

Harmony swallowed her bite and spoke up.

"Oh, sweetie! Wasn't Nox wanting to go over Lapua's report on the Seekers?"

"Ah, you're right. But that can wait." Lurk made a show of suddenly remembering something. "Oh, but I did need to help Wrath and Ruin set up Hellhammer positions overlooking the pass. That can't wait."

Harmony winked at him.

Standing with a smile and a swirl of his greatcoat, Lurk turned to their host.

"King Wojak, I hope this isn't rude, but I must return to our home and oversee our efforts to protect that pass."

"Not at all, King Lurk. I hope ye don't mind me taking yer portion. Ye must take some wine, though! I didn't break into that batch of Chryss Red because I like the color." King Wojak gestured, and a dutiful attendant held out a small cask of treated wood. The young man stared up at Lurk in wide eyed wonder.

Thanking the attendant, Lurk set the barrel of wine under his arm.

"I'll stay and tour the city, don't worry." Harmony reassured him.

Bumping his nose affectionately into her wild crimson mane one last time, Lurk summoned his Mask of the Unbound and stepped away.

"Woah, that's a neat trick." Wojak commented. The portly king set down his wine with a shake of his head and turned to Harmony. "Yer husband trusts ye to handle yer affairs?"

"Absolutely," She shot back instantly. Though not as well versed in medieval society as her husband, Harmony knew full well in old Earth culture that women were often undervalued or treated as second class.

"Ha! Ye remind me of my missus, Ocean Goddess rest her soul. She was as wild as the sea and willful as it too. Our sons are away right now. Sailed to Deeka with our fleet to help the Coalition. I'm sure they'll love to meet ya once they get back."

"Is there a more shining example of perfect unity! Truly High King Lurk and Queen Harmony are the epitome of what all lovers strive to achieve!" Nitro stood with his mug of wine raised and the rest of his team toasted to their Lord and Lady.

Barely containing her giggle, Harmony stifled her amusement at Nitro's antics by grabbing a wide bowl filled with the largest crawfish she had ever seen. Back on Earth, she had absolutely loved seafood, but crawfish was a particular favorite. In fact, she found the YGGDRASIL equivalent of her favorite blend of spices. Even though back in the game, taste was not a real thing, it still pleased her to entertain the idea that her food buffs were well flavored. Harmony sprinkled a generous helping of cayenne pepper over top of the dish. She lifted the whole bowl and gave it a shake to distribute the spice throughout.

Satisfied, she licked her lips and grabbed the biggest one she saw off the top of the pile. With a twist, she separated the body and stripped the tail of its hidden morsel, then sucked the head with a shameless slurp.

King Wojak leaned over with great interest.

"What's that ya got there, Queen Harmony?"

"I'm so sorry, should I not have added something? I just got carried away. It's my favorite thing to add to crawfish." She picked up another crawfish and waited before tearing into it.

"It's a feast! If there's something to be added, it's only right ye do so. Especially if it's somethin' Oxelan doesn't have. So it goes well on mud-pinchers, aye?" Wojak crossed his arms over his chest, skeptical, yet intrigued.

"It's a pepper that's dried and ground down. It's a bit spicy, but would you like to try some?" Holding up the bowl, she gave it a small shake. After Wojak took one, she held the dish out to Nitro. The Minotaur put a hand to his chest and had to adjust his monocle to appropriately wear his look of awe at his Lady's generosity. As unworthy as he felt, Nitro would sooner give up his own life than refuse an offer from Lady Harmony. The rest of the team looked on, trying to hide their jealousy.

"This... This is incredible!" King Wojak proclaimed. "For this alone I'd agree to whatever trade terms ye want!" The jolly fellow licked his fingers and then quickly grabbed his wine to douse the heat.

"I can get Loam to see if we can grow some." Being a far cry from a botanist, Harmony had no idea if they could grow the spice, and hoped that Loam could work her magic.

"What's a Loam?" King Wojak asked.

"Oh, our Treant. She's very sweet." Harmony smiled.

"Treant?" Wojak inquired, even more confused.

"Sorry, she's a tree that looks like a beautiful woman."

"A tree that looks like a pretty lady? You've got good taste!" Though he struggled to understand these strangers from a far land if the talk was to be believed, King Wojak was finding it difficult to mistrust Nitro or Harmony.

"Yes! Another fine addition to The Citadel, courtesy of the great Lord Woodsolution! My fine attire was chosen by Lord Woodsolution, so you can imagine how beautiful Loam must be by compare, m'yes." Nitro brushed imaginary crumbs from the shoulder of his coat.

"I've got some sauce that goes very well with oysters too, if you'd like to try that. They go best raw on the half shell. Do you eat them that way?" Eagerly, Harmony's mouth was already salivating in anticipation.

"Steamed, raw, so long as they're fat and juicy!" King Wojak slapped his belly and waved to one of his attendants who had overheard. The young man hurried off and returned in seconds with a platter of freshly washed and shucked oysters on the half shell.

Reaching into an almost forgotten corner of her inventory, Harmony pulled the platter to her and summoned the ingredients. She did her special mixture of tabasco, horseradish, cocktail sauce, and squeezed a lemon wedge over the top. After taking a plump oyster for herself, she then offered the platter to Wojak and Nitro who both graciously took one before passing the oysters around. The Demi-Claws and Corsairs were stunned speechless and took their oysters as though they were offerings from the dead gods of YGGDRASIL itself.

The gamer-turned-queen was just happy to share.

With a sly grin, Harmony downed the whole slippery mixture, chewing on the rich flavor and sharp spicy bite that warmed her sinuses. Taking their cue from the Fair Lady, Nitro and his team all did the same.

"Woah, that's hot. That's good hot!" Taking another quaff of his wine, the portly king slapped the table in appreciation for the rich new flavors he was experiencing.

"Spicy, m'yes?" Nitro agreed, grinning as he watched the Sharpshooters and Corsairs down their drink with eyes watering from the seasoned oysters.

"I'm beginning to believe that ye came from another world. Or at least far enough away that it may as well 'ave been." Wojak leaned back in his seat, and although his tone did not shift, his words belied a deeper suspicion.

"So, if you came through, what else came with ya?" He looked straight at her.

Harmony was no fool, and understood then that King Wojak was much sharper than he let himself appear. She made sure her face betrayed no surprise.

"That's one reason we're making sure to be friendly neighbors. In case something followed us, we want to make sure we're in a position to know about it. If Oxelan ran across an item or creature, you'd give it to us, right?" The Scalebound's smile was just as innocent as Wojak's.

"What sorts o' things mighta followed? So that I know what to keep an eye open for?"

"There were many things from our old world. Different races and places. Most of it's harmless." She lied easily. She rapped her metal shod knuckles against the chest piece of her Divine armor. The sword and tree crest glimmered with the many prismatic ores of the nine worlds. "I named this armor Grand Alliance because of what it represented back then. Black Sky Legion had many friends and allies. This armor commemorates that union with the materials from the scattered corners of our old home."

Once more searching for a reason to distrust the peculiar queen and her colorful entourage, Wojak conceded.

"Aye, lass. Er, Queen Harmony. You've got my seal of approval. Most o' mine still listen to mah word. But the common folk would be reassured if they knew ye were friends o' the sea too."

Harmony considered this request. It did not sound unreasonable, though she found it interesting that Wojak was so seemingly concerned for his people. She did not doubt his commitment to his kingdom. Yet in her personal experience, the ones at the top did not care for those below, holding them up. Finding a monarch who put his duties first was certainly refreshing, and in her mind, Harmony put Queen Belgrave of Kadusia into the same category.

Then an idea struck her like a sack of clams and she gave a loud snap of her claws.

"Well, what if I could command the biggest sea critter you could imagine?" An idea had been quietly brewing in the Scalebound's head since she learned that Oxelan was next to the ocean.

King Wojak blinked a few times, not quite certain if what he considered a big sea critter would be quite the same.

"Hm," The portly man stroked his bear. "If by big, you mean 'uge! Then that might do the trick. How big are we talkin'?"

"Bigger than your castle." Harmony tried and failed to hide her smirk.

Though he looked skeptical, Wojak nodded.

"Aye, that'd do it."

"Great!" Harmony nodded before messaging her husband.

[Message]

_Hey honey?_

_Oh, I know that tone. What do you need, sugar plum?_

_Could you by chance teleport the Leviathan out into the ocean for me?_

_Ha! Oh god, you're not going mad fish woman on me, right?_

_No, no, silly. King Wojak likes me. Likes the idea of trading and all that good stuff. He just thinks it'll win over the people if I show them we're sea friendly too._

_Ah, that does make sense. And you're thinking the Leviathan?_

_Yup. I'll give you the signal, okay?_

_One collossal king-sized helping of sea monster comin' right up. I'll teleport him far enough out that he won't damage anything. From there he should just come to you._

_Thank you, sweetness!_

_I love you my darling dearest dragoness._

_I love you too, handsome._

[End Message]

Nitro's hairy brow knitted together until revelation visibly passed over his face. He pounded a fist into his open palm.

"The Leviathan! What a splendid idea, Queen Harmony. The very one you and Lord Woodsolution wrestled from Muspelheim herself. M'yes, not many were brave enough to face the Lavasioth of the magma rivers, and fewer still able to wrestle them up onto the shore."

"That's right, Nitro. I'm glad you remember."

"Of course, Lady Harmony."

"So, shall we head down to the shore, King Wojak? I'll be more than happy to show the people of Oxelan that Black Sky Legion is friends with the sea."

"Ah... Yes... Of course." Trying to pretend he did not just hear a Minotaur casually mention that the dragon-lady still casually sitting at his table had swam through a river of lava to wrestle with a creature, King Wojak struggled to his feet. He was bit more tipsy than he had intended from washing down the spicy mud-pinchers and oysters. However it would not be the first time he had conducted royal business while drunk, and confidently walked out of the hall.

A motley collection of knights escorted their king. They were a more traditional chivalric order, each with his own heraldry and were lavishly well armed. They were meant as a rapid response force to fend off the numerous bandit raids on Oxelan territory.

Not to be outdone, the Silver Knights snapped to attention sharply enough to startle several of the Oxelan noble order of sea knights. The Living Armor had remained so still, that the nearby attendants jumped in surprise as well. Next to the Silver Knights of Harmony's make, the sea knights may as well have been dull as a river stone. The Sharpshooters took up their arms and fell in step behind the crested shields of their battle brothers. Fulfilling their own duty to the letter, the two Corsairs disappeared in trails of emerald fire, jumping from spot to spot ahead of the Black Sky forces.

Shouldering his enormous rifle, Nitro Express gleefully took his place at his Lady's right side.

There was only a short walk between the ocean keep and the main dockyard of Oxelan. It meant that defenders up on the walls could rain arrows or harpoon bolts on any hostiles attempting to take the bay. The well armed diplomatic force of The Citadel took a sedate pace behind the entourage of Oxelan's King.

As the sound of ocean and bustling city life overtook them, Harmony rested a palm on top of Ivory and spoke.

"Nitro, tell me what you've learned about Oxelan."

"It would be my honor, Fair Lady." Nitro cleared his throat and recounted the knowledge he had gathered thus far.

"They are a proud people, m'yes. They worship the ocean as a goddess, regularly making offerings of food and spirits either in celebrations at shrines at the water's edge, or while at sea. They pray for good harvests and bury their dead at sea as well. Fishing, and especially hunting Karkinos is the most respected means of supporting family. They have roots in raiding and pillaging up and down the coasts, so most of their military strength is in their fleet of war galleys."

A flash of light drew Harmony's attention for a moment, noting how the Corsairs kept pace. She found herself much more at ease with their watchful carbines above and Nitro's massive presence beside her.

"While they look down on Kadusia for their reliance on farming, the Oxelan vineyards along the mountain slopes are appreciated for both the wine and offerings to their ocean goddess. All of their magic is focused on rituals, namely one that culminates in what I believe is [Control Weather]."

"[Control Weather] is sixth tier." Although next to nothing had trained her to be the queen of a magic society, a lifetime of gaming had taught Harmony puzzles and problem solving.

"M'yes, Fair Lady. Lapua shared her findings with Kadusia's magic collegia and instruction not to let on with anything higher than seventh tier. It seems that the magic casters of Oxelan all come together in times of crisis to perform an elaborate ritual that quells the raging sea. It is said to be very dangerous, and that entire groups of mages have lost their lives in the attempt."

"Then there's King Wojak himself. He believes fervently in the traditions of his people. The Kings of Oxelan are all expected to know and sail the sea. He's admitted that he's over the hill and relies on his sons to lead the fleet in his stead. His favorite wine is from a slope that's quite close to The Citadel. He secretly hates silver, and much prefers gold."

"Don't forget a great love of seafood. Though I can understand that, at least. How did you manage to get so much information so quickly?" Harmony asked, catching the wafting scent of fish and brine as they neared the docks.

"King Wojak is loose with his wine, and even looser with his tongue once the wine has set in, m'yes. Though I suspect he's much sharper than he lets on. He's asked many subtle questions trying to gauge our strength. I've kept only to recounting tales of our victory over the Bandit King and the disposition of only what we deployed on the field that day."

"Smart, and a gentleman? Woodsolution did a good job with you, Nitro." Harmony said with a smile.

Nitro stood straight, tall, and proud as the kind words of his Lady punctured his soft underbelly.

The Oxelan port had many long stone piers. Many divisions were clear, with the largest docks armed with defensive towers and were mostly empty. Merchant vessels and the heavy fishing boats occupied an area with several cranes and warehouses for storage. As the Oxelan and Black Sky entourages approached, sailors and dock workers crowded up onto the sails and rigging of the ships moored to get a better look on.

At the pier, Harmony looked at the different vessels moored. Many of the fishing ships had large ballistae loaded with harpoons mounted to platforms that stuck out from the sides. She stepped up beside Wojak to ask him about the peculiar addition.

"What are those for? Do you fight at sea a lot?"

"Oh the crab harpoons! No, Queen Harmony. They can be useful for war, but they were made for hunting those Karkinos. I mentioned they were in season? Well, that's figurative and literal. It's their spawning time. They'll breed and the currents will shift with the winter and bring the eggs to the warmer southern waters. It's the best time to hunt 'em, but the last thing you want is a bunch 'o horny females climbin' yer boat without protection."

Harmony raised a scaly eyebrow, wondering if the king knew the connotations of his statement. Looking at the blissfully oblivious Wojak, she could only stifle a laugh.

Making their way further down the pier, a large group of Oxelan city guard attracted Harmony's gaze. They were gathered before a ship flying a blue and silver flag. It was obviously foreign, having a sharp keel for deeper waters and made from a darker wood compared to the golden oak of the Oxelan boats.

A tall, thin, and well-dressed aristocrat with a hook nose to match was arguing vehemently with the guard sergeant.

King Wojak had a frown crease his lips for the first time Harmony had seen. He turned to her with a glowing smile, his sun-kissed cheeks wrinkling.

"Queen Harmony, If you would excuse me but a moment if it please ya. Minor kingly duty to attend, you understand." Though he was a large man, Wojak was only just taller than Harmony's six foot stature. Her horns more than made up for the rest.

"Of course, It's no problem." Harmony replied with diplomatic poise.

"Be but a moment, don't ye fret." Wojak clasped his hands, callused from rope and rigging.

King Wojak moved with great purpose towards the knot of wharf guards with his sea knights sticking tightly to their monarch. The guard all straightened at the approach of the king. The ludicrously overdressed nobleman kept quarreling right up to the point that Wojak came up behind the guard sergeant.

The King thought he was far enough away from his guests and spoke in firm tones to the man that was mostly lost to the tumultuous ruckus of the docks.

"Nitro," Harmony said. She pretended to be interested in her gauntlet as one eye and ear stayed fastened on King Wojak.

The courtly Minotaur bowed to be level with his Queen.

"Lady Harmony?"

"What do you think Snowdrop is?" A suspicion rooted itself into Harmony's stomach. An unshakable certainty that the innocent sounding name hid a venomous snake.

"Hm, King Wojak does seem quite adamant in making sure none of it gets into Oxelan, m'yes."

"It doesn't sound like an animal, or beast. Something magic, you think?"

"I'm certain it will be trivial to discover the nature of this Snowdrop."

"Be discreet, Nitro. Don't take any unnecessary risks." She cautioned.

"Lady Phage the Untouchable's Corsairs will be able to seize the information. High Lord Lurk was wise to assign a pair to the away teams. I would be unworthy of his trust if I did not utilize the skills of my team, m'yes."

As the Queen and her posh attendant spoke, the Orza nobleman wilted before the king of the port city.

Wojak returned with only half his men as the city guard and knights marched onto the ship.

"Thank ye kindly, Queen Harmony. As much as I appreciate what the Coalition represents, I sure as salt wish the thrice-damned Orza weren't a part of it. And if you're intendin' to talk to 'em too, I shall make an offering to the sea goddess on yer behalf. Shall we carry on?"

"I was thinking that now would be a good time to summon my friend." She said jovially.

While they waited, Harmony had selected an empty pier and marched off towards it.

"I... Ah, sure. Aye, if it pleases ye." Warily, Wojak followed.

After a quick message to Lurk, Harmony crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Her Silver Knights made sure their Lady was framed by the flag and crest.

With her sharp Scarlet Drake eyes, Harmony spied the distant splash. She held up her claw and though it took her moment to get her lips just right, she blew a shrill whistle that carried on the ocean breeze.

Sailors hung from rigging and wharfmen crowded the piers, all straining to catch a glimpse of what the foreign beauty was set to do. They were not kept waiting for long. A swell of disturbed water from the Leviathan's passage approached the city. Men all around began to shout and point.

Harmony whistled again and lifted a claw and gave it a twirl. Like the extinct blue whales of old Earth, the Leviathan breached the waves. Trailing arcs of water, the creature splashed back down.

A distant fishing galley was approaching the port. A rippling wave taller than its largest mast threatened to engulf the vessel. Giving another whistle, Harmony quickly corrected her underestimate of the Leviathan in open waters. The titanic Guardian gave a firm push and propelled itself forward faster than the wave. Gently, the Leviathan lifted the boat with its tail so that the galley bobbed over the crest of the surge onto the calmer waves.

To the Oxelan observers, a deep sea god, the stuff of legends, had come to their city. Harmony glanced back at King Wojak and gave him a winning smile. Jaw hanging down, he could only stare.

"The Leviathan is very friendly. He guards part of my home." Harmony whistled again and the aquatic titan swam eagerly, yet slow enough not to accidentally cause damage.

"Just a part?" Wojak's question slipped out unintentionally, and he nearly bit his tongue.

A tempest of thoughts and emotions raged through the Oxelan king. He was caught between wonder and fear. Awe and terror. Was this Leviathan and its master a bringer of hope? Or doom. And he was King. His duty was to protect his city. Was he supposed to believe that someone who controlled such power would not use it? If Queen Harmony commanded the Leviathan to visit its wrath upon the port, what could they do before the might of such a creature?

In the middle of the day, the Leviathan's glow was somewhat muted. The strips of luminous still glimmered beneath the surface of the water, giving the Leviathan the appearance of floating on a halo of light. Radiance also gave the onlookers a clear view of how big the creature was under the waves. A single fin alone was larger than the biggest fishing galley.

Nitro gestured with his rifle and clapped King Wojak on the back.

"Haha! Have you ever seen a more magnificent creature! Truly a majesty, m'yes. A splendor of nature if ever there was one. My Supreme One, Lord Woodsolution was the greatest visionary! The Mystic's Reef is almost as posh as I am, m'yes."

Despite the assurance of King Wojak, many men did not have the mettle to face the rising giant of the deep as it approached, running for higher ground. The main city harbor was just deep enough for the Leviathan to swim inside without scraping its belly on the bottom. It dwarfed every ship moored in the city by a huge margin. If it wanted, the Leviathan could have drowned the city in an apocalyptic splash of its tail. One snap of its jaws could have broken the largest harpoon ship into splinters.

With finesse that defied all logic from its size, the Leviathan swam right up to the long pier that Harmony stood on. Its nose nearly bumped into the end of the stone jetty. Even Wojak himself took a few steps back. Trill hoots and haunting siren calls emanated from the Leviathan. Warbling song borne of that deep could not reach far in the open air, yet the resonance was audible for all the gawkers on decks and jetties.

As Harmony stepped forward, Nitro bowed his head and held out his huge paw of a hand.

"My Lady," He took off his hat and held it to his chest as any true gentleman would.

"Thank you, Nitro." Harmony daintily laid her claw in Nitro's palm.

"I am blessed by this duty, Queen Harmony, think nothing of it."

Fearlessly, Harmony stepped off the dock straight onto the Leviathan's snout. She walked carefully so she did not dig her talons into the Guardian of the fifth floor. The Scalebound turned to address the human king.

"How about now, King Wojak? Would you say I'm of the sea?" Leaning down, she gave the Leviathan an affectionate pat. Obeying its Supreme Being, the titan began reversing out of the bay.

"Aye," He said in wonder. Then the fear seized him once again. What was he supposed to do in the face of such power? Power that only the divine should have. Surely only someone blessed by the ocean goddess would be able to command such a creature? At least that was what he would pray for.

"Aye!" Wojak shouted louder.

Nitro began clapping and hooting in admiration. The Black Sky entourage joined in, shouting encouragement and praise for their Fair Lady. Though it started slowly, the many sailors and Oxelan dock workers joined in.

"Nitro! Take over for me, alright? I'm gonna catch some sun and then head back to The Citadel." Harmony shouted to the Minotaur. She figured floating away on the Leviathan would be a good way to make an exit with her negotiations with King Wojak.

"Enjoy yourself, Fair Lady! Take good care of her, Leviathan!" Nitro waved in return, the squad all joining in as well.

Riding on the back of her oversized steed, Harmony left behind the tumult of the Oxelan docks to the serenity of the open ocean.

Flopping down, Harmony's tail beat out a happy rhythm atop the Leviathan. Grand Alliance was not uncomfortable to wear, yet not conducive to lounging. With an easy gesture, she stripped down to a simple shirt and summer shorts. Reclining back onto the manta-like hide, she put her arms behind her head. Closing her eyes, Harmony breathed in the fresh air and listened to the clean expanse of ocean. The waters were untouched by centuries of spoilage and pollution. Gulls circled overhead or bravely alighted on the Leviathan's back.

Radiant warmth from a yellow sun bathed her scaly claws and talons. A bit of seawater soaked through her back and her hair. She sat up for a minute and looked all around, seeing nothing but a plane of blue. Oxelan was a distant splotch, with the mountain range behind like an oil-painting backdrop.

Feeling bold, Harmony stripped completely naked and sunned herself on the back of the Leviathan. Aegis of Muspleheim flashed the water off of her and the sun kissed her bare breasts and stomach. Rays of light made her gold-flecked crimson scales glitter. Ivory horns poked through the wild spill of her red mane.

She ran a claw up her thigh, and felt the small bump of her pelvis.

_I've never really felt that before. Damn, what woman wouldn't want to design her own body? Well, maybe not the six-pack and tail. But most people have shit taste. And now I have it._

Back in the old world, she knew she had been pretty. But not like she was then. Her avatar was a goddess. Sometimes, in her digital arts job she was tasked with touching up models for magazine covers. Now what had been only possible with photo manipulation, she saw every time she looked in a mirror.

Nor was she ever floating on the back of a giant sea monster back on Earth!

Her tail wiggled slowly beneath her and she patted her Guardian affectionately, hoping that Lurk was enjoying himself as much as she was.

Below her, the Leviathan began to sing once again.

***BSL***

"Load!" Ordered the Demi-Claw commander. His cannoneers sprung into action.

The two loaders worked smoothly in tandem. They locked the Hellhammer cannon's breech open then packed the five-inch, or one-hundred and twenty-seven millimeter payload into place. The casing slid into the firing chamber with a faint scrape. The falling breech block locked in with a solid clunk.

It was a simple high-velocity shrieker shell. Good for taking out heavy armor or piercing strong defensive spells. Though it relied on accurate hits to deal damage.

"Ready!" Called the loaders.

"Target distance is twenty-thousand." The commander spoke with his spyglass trained to the target which had been set up on the nearby mountainside.

"Twenty-thousand, aye." Answered the gunner, one eye firmly fixed on the sights set along the side of the gun, working wheels that controlled angle and elevation. The muzzle brake of the Hellhammers were worked into demonic mouths, with the fangs forming the directional vents. Hungry to fire. Gear teeth crunched through their mechanical motion, drawing chains through spools that gave the appearance that a devil had been harnessed as a weapon.

"Ready to fire." Announced the gunner. A magical connection existed between the gunner sights and the commander's spyglass, highlighting the desired target and showing a line of travel for the shrieker to take. Individually, the Sharpshooters were some of the lowest level occupants of The Citadel. Their cooperation and mastery of the tools of war was what elevated them into a threat that spelled the doom of almost every raiding party that dared set foot within the crosshairs of Alpha or Omega.

The commander stayed as steady as his Hellhammer.

"Fire."

One of the gunners pulled the firing cord and the charge inside the shell was ignited.

The gun carriage shuddered and long hydraulic rods drew back from their piston housing as the Hellhammer recoiled. Generated pressure was released as flame along vents interspaced along the top of the main piston housing. The reciprocating action of the cannon flung the fired casing. Substantial, even spent, the brass clanged like a bell into one of the Hellhammer's deployed limbers. The long struts used for towing and to stabilize firing shuddered under the force of the howitzer.

The snarling fireball from between the fangs of the brake extended a dozen feet out from either side of the muzzle.

At such close proximity, the bang would have been deafening to anyone without racial protection against the sound and pressure. Camouflage netting had been stretched over the top of the Hellhammer to obscure it among the foliage of the mountain. The fabric shook from the discharge.

Then, the shrill scream of the shell pierced the air as it shredded speed and split the wind. Though its impact was small, it utterly obliterated one of the yellow and red painted stacks of logs on the opposite mountain slope. Sound from the impact took a few seconds to travel back to them.

"Hit on target is confirmed." The commander grinned from horn to horn.

The Demi-Claw crew raised their fists and shouted in exultation.

Turning, the gunnery commander knelt before the High King of Black Sky. The Wyrmblood unclasped his hands from behind his back and rubbed his chin in consideration. Behind him, both Wrath and Ruin were giving their Sharpshooter signs of approval. Legion stood stoically beyond, yet was suitably impressed by the discipline of the crew.

"My Lord, master of the holy Tetragrammaton. Was that to your satisfaction?"

"An excellent shot, commander." Lurk took a deep breath of the burning powder, reveling in the sharp scent. He looked to the Sharpshooter with a lopsided grin and a destructive gleam in his eye. "But can you do it again?"

"Yessir!" The Demi-Claw shot up and turned back to his crew. "Load!"

Ruin could no longer contain herself, and performed a flying jump hug. Her arms and legs wrapped around her Lord. Although staggered, Lurk managed to stay upright even as he stumbled forward a few steps. Giggling, Ruin put her claws over Lurk's face. Her carapace armor squashed into his back. She squeezed him with a squeal of glee.

Lurk could only laugh. He would never get angry at the Deathclaw twin for her playful nature. It was how he had written her, after all.

"Can you guess who it is, High Lord? It's your most loyal Guardian!" Ruin's tail wagged in a jubilant dance.

"Hm, who ever could it be. Soot? Is that you? My, you've gotten big all of a sudden. And can talk, too!"

"It's me, silly. Ruin!" The Deathclaw lifted her claws in unrestrained joy. "We can get so much range out here with the Hellhammers. That is not to say Alpha and Omega are not flawlessly designed. They're perfect. Just like you are, High Lord! And now your foresight has perfectly readied us for this new world and its big new kill boxes!" The Glowing Deathclaw brightened in glee.

"Ruin, stop being selfish. You're hogging High Lord Lurk all to yourself!"

Fuming, Wrath grabbed her sister by the tail and gave a firm yank. This time Lurk was a little more ready for it and was fortunately not knocked off his talons.

"Now focus, dumbass. We've got a job to do. High Lord Lurk trusted us with setting up our Hellhammers out here. And I think we should fortify that slope there." Wrath pointed off to the distant slope and set her other claw on her hip.

Ruin rolled back upright without skipping a beat.

"No, dumbass, we need to have a line going down our mountain first. My Hellhammers, shortstroke. I'm the Siegebreaker."

"If we put everything here first, there won't be coverage for the pass." Wrath retorted.

"There will if we use my setup."

"Your setup is stupid."

"You're stupid!"

The twins locked horns and became a wrestling ball of deathclaw. Bickering could still be made out as they rolled back and forth until they became dangerously close to the edge of the mountain shelf.

"Girls..." Legion began, but it was far too late as Wrath and Ruin rolled off down the side of the mountain. Trees could be heard snapping as the two crashed through the underbrush.

Lurk and Legion watched the two go, then resumed the discussion on their own.

"We'll continue entrenching Hellhammers where we are now. I want us to be able to hit things coming or going from either side of the valley. Just enough to give us overwatch support for now. After that we'll set up a forward outpost on the mountain opposite from us." Lurk watched on in satisfaction as the Hellhammer crew fired off another round and obliterated the next target.

Legion nodded, his plumed helm bobbing.

"Might I suggest watchtowers, High Lord? They'll be quick to build. Perhaps a chain of them traversing the mountain pass? At least until more permanent defenses are in place. We can exterminate all the bandit scum we want, but if they can still prey on caravans then we may as well not hold the pass at all." Legion pointed off towards the Kadusia side of the pass.

"Have we been having any difficulty with the bandits?" Idly, Lurk pondered how effectively they could dig the bandits out of their holes.

Legion's sound for scoffing was akin to bolts being aggressively rattled in a tin can.

"Occasional pockets have sprung up. Ambush attempts have been made, but they've stood no hope of success. The Flayers sniff them out before they even get a chance. Though the more we kill, the deeper they dig. They've started to avoid us and go back to their old habits of looting farms that border the mountain forests and trying to make traps along the road."

"Let's not be only passive in our defense. Organize some hunting parties." Though Lurk enjoyed the sea of greenery, he knew what a nightmare it could be rooting out an entrenched foe that knew the terrain.

"What kind of prey will they be hunting?" He asked, though Legion already knew the answer.

"They two-legged variety. Corsairs and Flayers. Sweep by sectors. Treat our mountains as hostile territory until we can fully secure the area. Go easy on the satchel charges and razorwire bombs. We don't need to re-shape the entire range just to put down a castle."

Legion heaved a heavy sigh.

"Blasted knaves! Alas, I must concede the task of delivering justice to my fellow, Skitharix. My Silver Knights do not have the same skills when it comes to stalking prey."

"Don't trouble yourself over it, Legion. I need your soldiers to guard civilians traversing the pass. That chain of watchtowers you suggested should help until we get bunkers and hardened Hellhammer emplacements. I need someone to be the face of Black Sky. I need someone to be our shield."

Then it was Legion's turn to fall to his knee, overwhelmed by the trust his leader was placing in him.

"Truly, sire?"

Lurk turned to face the Guardian and clasped his hands behind his back once more. He hoped the greatcoat gave him the aspect of a military commander like he imagined when Lurk had made the Divine item.

"As a soldier, you must always be aware of the talents and skills of your team. I think you and your knights are the best suited to that job, Legion."

"Thank you, High Lord Lurk! We won't let you down." The mighty Warpriest contemplated his Lord's words and came to a decision on something. "In that case, High Lord, if I may, do you wish to hear my thoughts on what might make a fine addition to that mountain yonder?"

"Tell me, Legion. You have me curious."

The Guardian leapt to his feet and drew invisible lines of a fortress in the air.

"Why, nothing less than a grand castle befitting Black Sky Legion!"

"Oh yes, a keep and ravelins? The slope would be a good place for tiered layers of bastions." The idea got Lurk's mind churning with possible designs and placement.

"A star fort with a central keep? Oh, that makes my plates shiver! It would be wonderful to have a hardened, entrenched position to provide coverage on both sides of the valley! Though of course we would have to embellish this side as well. Can't have lopsided defenses."

"You are a man of culture, Legion. I'm very proud."

"Haha! You do me honor with your words, High Lord. The Citadel on its own is a more magnificent fortress than any other that was or shall ever be, but wouldn't it be nice to design one to show on the outside the might of Black Sky?"

"Giant banner. It would need giant banners." Lurk insisted.

"Visible from the pass?" Legion asked, already thinking about how to procure enough black and white dye for such a display.

"Without a doubt."

"Oooh, yes. Unfortunately, it is my duty to raise one concern. Will Kadusia or Oxelan protest our claim on their territory, High Lord?"

"Well, it's more bandit territory. If they make a fuss then we can use the excuse that we're simply pacifying the countryside. Securing borders, as it were."

"Doing them a favor, really. I'm certain that you or Lady Harmony can work it in with the peace agreement?"

"That will be easy to claim we're simply defending ourselves. You seem to have things well in hand, Legion. Carry on with our plans. And make sure when they get back up here, that Wrath and Ruin do push ups until _you_ get tired. I'm going up to the peak of our mountain to make a small alteration."

Legion place his fist over the left side of his chest and bowed.

"By you command, High King Lurk. 'Till Black Sky comes."

Spreading his wings, Lurk began to climb until Legion was a small red crested speck far below.

Up and up. Further and further on wings that felt as though they could carry him to the ends of the world and back again. With the ease of a morning jog, he made an ascent normally reserved for only the most dedicated pilgrims, ready to give their lives to weeks of navigating to the top as the path grew treacherously steep.

The view was still worth more than what his old job could have earned him in several lifetimes. The rich fields and verdant forests of Kadusia spread out on one side, while the great ocean stretched far off to the blue horizon on the other. And beneath him were the mountains that split the two with snow-capped fangs.

Lurk's breath puffed as water vapor hit high altitude air.

He pulled on his inner self. A steadiness overtook him and he welcomed it. Locked onto his target, he raised an arm and pointed with a sharp claw. Magic symbols sprung around Lurk, shedding their arcane glow in a revolving cocoon of rings and glyphs. The Ancient Incarnate called forth his magic and it answered his intent with surety and mana. He knew the words and what shapes to hold in his mind.

Gears. Ticking. Clicking. Whirring. A great machine, waiting to come forth. Calling him. An orchestra of mechanical parts sang him a lullaby of operation and mathematical inclination.

A ring encircled the peak of the mountain. A ring that grew spokes, then teeth. Cogs meshed together, turning and weaving and ticking. More and more rings propagated into gears, impossibly fitting greater numbers of individual pieces into the greater whole.

"[Cathedral of Brass]."

The tangible ebb and flow of magic responded to his will, and shaped the world in turn. An intoxicating rush filled Lurk's snout. Fortunately the heady surge was tempered by the essence of [Cathedral of Brass]. Rock and snow yielded to the metal of Lurk's whim. Mechanized instinct marched in clockwork ranks through his mind as the buttresses of the Cathedral rose from the mountain top. The peak was wholly subsumed and converted as frost and stone was pushed aside to make room for the yellow metal of the dome and spire.

Super Tier took no MP to use, yet had a hard limit on group casting within a twenty-four hour period. It was not meant to be the ultimate win button in player fights back in the game. The spell was a long cast. It was not designed to be used in the heat of combat. Not normally, anyway. No, [Cathedral of Brass] was a support spell which summoned an actual steepled cathedral done up in Gothic architectural patterns. Complete with an overabundance of brass gargoyles, stained glass, firing slits, and automated gun emplacements tucked among the arches. The automated turrets could be activated with Lurk's Gunpowder Sage abilities and charged with explosive energy.

Back in the game, Lurk had grown used to the size of the summon. Looking at the outer arches and flying buttresses gave him a new appreciation for its breadth. The central spire alone reached almost a hundred and fifty feet into the air. After so much use, [Cathedral of Brass] felt less like a spell, and more like a single location he just moved from place to place, interconnected through numerous castings. Now it adorned the peak of a mountain he called home in a strange new world.

The spell originated from his Tetragrammaton Cleric class. The chief principle of its design was to give temporary buffs if meditated within. It was where the disciples of the gun, who dreamed in trajectories and terminal ballistics could go to dwell on their calling. To those dedicated enough, whether through plasma, laser, or old-fashioned lead, the [Cathedral of Brass] was open for all those Clerics and Disciples, Snipers and Gunners, Seigebreakers and Commandos. Whether it was one shot, one kill, or no kill like overkill, the Tetragrammaton gave its blessing generously.

Any allied player to the caster could sit and 'meditate' by in-game standards and receive huge bonuses to aim and accuracy. As well as special dodge chance and attack speed. All of that was available without reciting any of the hymns etched upon the place of worship for the Tetragrammaton.

And then there was Lurk, alighting on the landing platform with a newfound reverence.

Close to the front doors reinforced the new sense of scale. Ironwood, criss-crossed with bands of brass which sprouted curling Gothic patterns made up the gates. The entryway dwarfed him, metal gargoyles forming a procession overhead, holding up rifle to form an archway. After so much use, usually before long forrays into the dangers of Muspelheim, Lurk had grown accustomed to the grandeur of the bastion. As with everything else, the Cathedral carried a new magic that renewed the King's appreciation.

At his touch, the gates swung open on silent hinges. After entering, the doors closed behind him and Lurk was shielded from the howling wind. Quiet enveloped the Wyrmblood. True, and sorely welcome silence wrapped him up.

Inhaling, holding the breath, then exhaling expelled much of the tension knotting the muscles in his shoulders. A peaceful reprieve from all the stress and messy workings of political dealings with the new world kingdoms and ruling The Citadel. The gamer was certainly enjoying his role, but he still relished the quiet. His old job had been just a slog. An endless monotonous grind of migraine inducing noise. Never a moment of rest. Never a break from the nagging demands of incompetent coworkers, lazy underlings, and arrogant leaders.

Walking to the center of the nave, Lurk looked up, then ahead. Above the nave and suspended in the dome was an apparatus which measured time in the most non-traditional sense. A mad clock maker had poured his soul into the work, forging a piece that only counted when time meant almost nothing. A reverse clock, in a sense.

Going a little further, he stopped on the northern point of the star and found his gaze drawn up to the window at the end of the Cathedral. [Cathedral of Brass] always spawned with its orientation pointed to the north.

Occupying the far end of the Cathedral was a multi-tiered keyboard controlling the pipe organ which stretched up to the ceiling. Centered between the branching ranks of pipes was a stained glass window, wrought into the eight-pointed star of the Tetragrammaton. Cold light streamed in a prismatic display, onto the star embedded in the floor where the meditation buffs could be obtained. The different spots and patterns on the floor denoted the various boons that [Cathedral of Brass] could impart. By meditating on each in turn, the bonuses could be combined into the hymns etched into elaborate crosshair patterns along the towering windows. Always in sets of four.

At least in YGGDRASIL, to be beholden to any of the Tetragrammaton classes was to adhere to the divine side of the gunnery classes. Designed less around direct damage and more toward enhancing skills, spells, and giving bonuses to allies. The guiding principle was to face all threats from any direction. Different stances could be taken to achieve this goal.

Entropy went across his knees as he sat cross-legged on the ground. Designed for temperatures ranging far below, or far above what the mountain air could provide, Lurk was quite comfortable on the hard floor. Free from worldly fetters, his mind wandered through his job classes and not what they could do, but what they meant to him. Following this thread, he pondered on his most prized ability. His biggest achievement in YGGDRASIL aside from Entropy.

Sovereign of the Masquerade.

There was no quest or hidden item to obtain the class and once gained was a permanent feature of the player's avatar. Only by taking part and winning a special competition known as the Grand Ball could one gain Sovereign of the Masquerade. Funnily enough, there was no combat involved. Just dancing. One small catch in entering the competition limited many YGGDRASIL players from participation.

The normal physical input and feedback was turned to its safe limits as understood at the time.

The start of YGGDRASIL had been delayed due to legal hang ups with the full-dive technology. Much of the long term effects of full-dive were poorly understood, and the company had to agree to many restrictions to get the game launched at all. Certain probationary periods where game testers had to undergo grueling game sessions and medical analysis before the game was deemed safe to release to the general public. With settings tuned far below the safety margins established by testing.

In order to take part in the Grand Ball, Lurk had to sign hundreds of legal waivers, agreeing to submit any biometric data gathered to a non profit organization studying the effects of less restricted dives.

There were nine categories of entry, split between male and female solo, doubles, with those three options divided by racial class. There could be only three sets of winners for humanoid, demi-human, and heteromorphic. Lurk entered himself under the men's solo heteromorphic. He wanted Harmony to dance with him, but she had been insistent on him doing the competition on his own. She was a great gamer, yet had been cursed as a human with barely an ounce of athletic coordination.

Then, Lurk got to practicing. For weeks on end he created and practiced a routine set to his choice of classical music leased for the event.

His edge was using every extra limb. Wings. Tail. Everything. With the stronger link, he spent a lot of time training his brain to accept the new additions. In the normal game with its limited connection, the extremities were crudely linked. Controlling them was like moving a deadened limb. The attachment was there, but it was weak.

For that span of time, he became the Wyrmblood, the Ancient Dragon Incarnate. Tactile feedback turned up to its maximum safe threshold meant that Lurk knew in excruciating detail what it was to have phantom limb syndrome. To have his brain trick him into believing that outside the dive he was in the wrong body. He would move to avoid bumping wings that were not there into furniture, or tucking in an invisible tail when he sat down.

Whenever Lurk wanted to practice he was restricted to a certain amount of time per day to limit exposure to the higher physical connection. Upon being timed out and forcefully disconnected from the dive he would practice in human form. After the event he would learn how many heteromorphic contestants dropped out of the Grand Ball because their motor functions suffered detrimental effect in the real world. Scientific papers would be published later with data gathered from the special training sessions. There were a lot of charts displaying active portions of the brain and even more discussion around neuroplasticity.

With the strength he could ply through his avatar, Lurk could achieve incredible feats of physical skill that actually inspired him to take up his old ballroom dancing and mixed martial arts form books and study them. He blended the two disciplines with his heteromorphic body. At the time, it had been just a privilege to be able to experience what it truly felt like to be something more.

Far sooner than he had wished, the day of the Grand Ball arrived. He loaded into the waiting area with all the other contestants and fidgeted nervously for hours. Heteromorphics were last. Lurk was glad in that stretch of waiting that he had selected the category. Watching the human contestants perform made him quite nervous. Later it would be found that several winners were real life professional dancers. But not him.

After an eternity that felt like a second, it was his turn.

Lurk still remembered most of his choreography. Some pieces were fuzzy after so many years, but still buried in his muscle memory.

Every contestant was given a few costume choices. But they all wore pure white masks in the fashion of old Earth. It was the mask that calmed him down the most. Donning the draconic visage put him in the proper state of mind. It was strange to recall in such flawless detail what it felt like to climb those stairs. To feel the harsh lights of the stage cutting into his eyes. Yet he did not blink.

In that singular window, all concern, doubt, and fear had no place within him.

There was only the purity of purpose. When he took that platform and felt the music, all else ceased to exist. He did not think of winning, only to execute the motions he had sewed into his muscle and sinew. To express his mastery of self and control over a body alien to the one he had been born with. Given wholly to the self that was a conductor. Through artistry of form he put himself and his work forward as the genuine article. Not a human controlling an avatar like a puppet, but a real Ancient Incarnate. A real Wyrmblood.

That was the essence of the Grand Ball, and why its reward was Sovereign of the Masquerade. Because the players wore the masks like old renaissance performers wore masks of gods and kings in the same way wore their character avatars. The winners were the ones who could most convincingly put on the show of being someone else and performing a dance to prove it.

Through focus and dedication he got up on that stage and performed his blended mix of formal dance training and martial arts. Then he bowed, and exited with as much grace and dignity he could muster. The nerves and lead in his belly disappeared the moment he stepped up, and did not return. Lurk did not care then if he won or lost. He had performed the routine he had made to the best of his abilities, and therefore was content.

When the judges announced his name as winner of the male heteromorphic solos, it did not seem real. No matter what the outcome was, Lurk was proud of his performance. So when he actually won, the feeling was unreal. Only a distant whim pushed him to climb that stage the second time to receive his proof. He remembered grinning like such an idiot, unable to stop. Harmony had watched the whole thing and gushed at him for hours afterwards. She knew roughly the routine he had been cooking up. But she had not been able to follow him to the special training space. So Harmony saw it fully for the first time with the rest of YGGDRASIL players that tuned in to watch the competition.

From a far corner of his inventory, Lurk retrieved the trophy he had been presented that day. During the competition all the participants had been issued masks. Only the winners were given golden masks.

The announcer doing the play by play for the Grand Ball had given him the nickname 'The Dancing Dragon'. That moniker was engraved on the inside of the golden mask in Lurk's claws, specially shaped to fit his draconic face and muzzle. He read the inside and was instantly transported back to that day. That had been the last time he had felt the indents of the filigree patterns worked onto the symbol of victory.

He should have put it on display in the Hall of Memories. The outfit and plain ivory mask he had competed in sat in one of the alcoves of the hall. The golden trophy was not an item meant to be worn. Yet silly sentimentality made him keep the mask on him whenever he thought to put the thing away.

Logging into vanilla YGGDRASIL had felt... Dull. Numbing in a way.

Fortunately his disappointment had been tempered once he looked at his character information and saw that magical level one-hundred and one. Of course they made him level up four more times to get the new job class up to its maximum, yet that really only served to whet Lurk's anticipation for finding out what it could do. And he was not disappointed. The different Masks and Mantles were shockingly powerful.

Gunpowder Sage gave him special ammo, and unique variants of pyromancy specializing in explosives. Quickened ammo. Enervated shot. And more long-range destructive output than was usually necessary. Deadeye granted him targeting abilities that were second to none. Trajectories and paths were laid before him and made hitting targets with the unstable Gunpowder Sage spells manageable rather than impossible. Tetragrammaton Cleric anointed him with combat stances, acrobatic dodges, and firing drills mixed with various buffs and passives that turned him into a walking one man battalion.

One of his favorite options was to use a [Combustion] charged shot. Enhanced with Gunpowder Sage and aimed with Deadeye, using it to get instant cast and travel time. Then, with Tetragrammaton, he could thread the spell through a needle and place it right into an opponent's weak point.

Sovereign of the Masquerade granted that final layer of enhancement. Mask of the Fulminator was his preferred mask to use in conjunction with the Gunpowder Sage spells. A ten percent increase did not seem like much. But as soon as additive bonuses became multipliers, certain limits started breaking. Just like the other masks, Fulminator only had so many charges that could be used per day. That was why he had devoted so much time to switching masks quickly.

Again, Lurk dragged his claw across the surface of his golden 'Dancing Dragon' trophy. He considered that the spells and abilities once ingrained in him like a second self might be need to save his, or Harmony's life. The northern point of the Tetragrammaton granted him mental clarity, and he flicked through the masks that lay just beneath the surface of his scales, ready for the call of their master.

Mask of the Unbound became such a regular part of his kit, the time before it was a distant memory. The nine worlds were within his reach through the Unbound. Only a few masks actually granted their own activated abilities. Most enhanced the strengths of certain classes, like an actor performing a role. Lurk counted Unbound as an extension of his body not unlike his own wings.

Psion gave almost as much utility. He could hardly recall playing YGGDRASIL without close to every detection spell a button click away. In the new world, Lurk could use Psion for its literal purpose of gleaning information from lower level minds. Ironically, it was Psion that paired best with his Iron Conqueror form. Nothing quite like telekinetically controlling a barrage of Relic Iron spines to decimate an unsuspecting foe.

Mask of the Keeper was what he used to traverse the glowing sea during his hunt for Irradiance. It could be tuned to specific environmental hazards or grant elemental resistances. Though sadly Keeper could not give resistance to piercing or slashing, Lurk's true weakness.

One of his favorites was Tempest, which granted him unique buffs during any kind of storm. Which on Muspelheim and its inhospitable nature, was all the time. Lurk never appreciated its application until a long and enlightening conversation with a dedicated Storm Herald player.

Abyss for traversing the void and all manner of nasty traps and for situations where stealth was paramount. Celestial for passing through the realm of light and calling down holy orbital strikes. Visage of the Nephilim was the unholy union between the two, and had unparalleled summons. Yet was only good for a handful of uses per day. Lurk wondered how well those summons would perform. What sentience would they have? Would they be timed like they were back in the game?

He added those questions to the obscenely long list of spells, abilities, items, and magical theory that still needed to be tested.

The apex of Sovereign however, was Visage of the Immortals. Lurk shuddered to consider what actually using the class ability would feel like.

Realizing that his mind was drifting perhaps a bit too far afield, Lurk put away his golden mask and trailed a claw along Entropy's smooth Celestial Uranium composite and the five cores slumbering in their cradles.

Lurk clenched his right fist, feeling ring of the Autoloader on his middle finger clink between Macrosunder and Odin's Eye. Temporal on his thumb insured that he was protected against any and all time spells. And lastly the Soulbound ring tied to Entropy insured that even if he died, his prized weapon would never be lost. His other claw was also covered in jewelry. Four more Divine Class bands of precious metal glinted in the clean light. They varied in use. Thermo-Antithesis on his index for spell shells, with Hydra right beside. Gunshield on the next digit. And Valkyrie's Nanite Oath on his last.

Both he and Harmony had spent almost as much money on their avatars as on The Citadel. As much as they both resented having to purchase the ability to wear more rings to stay competitive, they were willing to spend money to level the playing field between themselves and those who thought to win by throwing enough credit cards at YGGDRASIL. Back in the first days, cash shop items could be traded between players willing to fork over enough coin in the auction house. At least until the shitty devs had made every real money purchase non-transferable.

Stretching his claws, Lurk followed the whim of his classes and decided on an old rite. After reaching into his inventory one more time he had a palm with five empty bullet casings.

_ Ritual is given power through symbolism, repetition, and by meeting criteria that transcends physical law. I believe it to work, and through words of power, and actual power, it will and does. Care. Repetition. Precision. Power. Faith._

_ I never was a man of faith before. What gods live in this world? If there were gods of the Earth, they were small, helpless things. Helpless before man. Gravity. Magnetism. Strong and weak nuclear forces. These were the bonds and bounds of that man. Now what are my bonds? By my nature I am now immortal. Except perhaps by physical force. Don't feel like testing that just yet. If it's an eternity spent with Harmony, then it would not be so bad._

One by one, Lurk set four empty casings on the floor in front of him. Upright and orderly, the open brass shells seemed to brim with potential.

His attention turned to a specific ring on his left index finger. Thermo-Antithesis flared to life as he tapped into it, summoning forth the power to convert daily limits of spells and MP into bullets. Soot was only the cosmetic reward for completing the elaborate Gunpowder Sage questline. The real gift was the ring purported to contain a miniature superconductor linked to a mana reactive quantum computer hidden in Lurk's inventory.

"[Napalm]. [Shrapnel]. [Acid Claw]. [Chain Dragon Lightning]."

One by one, he imbued the empty shells. The spells coalesced into crystals or swirling energies trapped in small glass ampules. The power was released when the bullet impacted its target, often with spectacular visual effect. He once accidentally lagged the game with too much use of [Chain Dragon Lightning] as YGGDRASIL's visual rendering struggled to keep up with dozens of instances going off at once. The stutters were usually small, yet absolutely impossible to look at and not feel as though one was suffering eye damage.

Ancient Incarnate gave him access to a versatile grimoire. He had spent a lot of spell books experimenting, unlearning and reworking his repertoire based on what made the best fodder for Thermo-Antithesis. Among his gunnery peerage, much debate had sprung up around which spells made the most efficient MP to damage per second conversion while not overloading the game. There was a fine line to walk between optimization and what YGGDRASIL could actually handle.

Although it was limited to unmodified seventh tier spells, there were few things as priceless as an opponent's reaction to a cast of [Reaper's Buzzsaw] full of bullets loaded with [Shrapnel]. A personal favorite thing to do with the ability was to infuse bullets with [Heal] and shooting allies with it. Lurk called it 'Friendly Fire'.

Once upon a time, he had logged into YGGDRASIL every single day without fail, even if it was only to drain his character's MP into consumable spell shells. Then those days gradually faded. The game entered its twilight years and Lurk moved on. Even if he did log on to help Harmony farm some gold or do an event, there was hardly ever any need to use his spell shells. That classic gamer paradox of attaining consumables that would not be used. His inventory was rife with ammunition almost beyond counting. Forgotten junk ranging from data crystals to cash shop items spilled into potions and old job class books for builds he considered tinkering with. Almost forgotten with time.

Almost.

Knowing that Thermo-Antithesis worked gave him an unexpected measure of solace. Scooping up the bullets, he felt confident enough to check on some of his other central abilities.

Centered, the Wyrmblood stood. He took up Entropy and adopted his neutral Kata. Talons together, heel touching heel. Entropy was held straight up with his right arm bent tight. Left arm crossing his chest to rest on the front sickle curve of the magazine. From there he could shift his claw to its grip and pivot the weapon in any direction.

_ The Tetragrammaton. Four. Eight. Twelve. Symmetry. North. South. East. West. The dozen. The twelve positions of the clock are symbolic. The teachings are the pursuit of self through firepower. Through the gun. Motion. Unity. Self. Stillness through motion. Motion through stillness._

The Cathedral did not have a firing range, but it did have the titanic pipe organ that dominated the far end. Hundreds of pipes arranged into divisions, could be controlled by the many keyboards at the base of the instrument, or by triggering reactive targets set among the ranks of pipes. Lurk could not pull the trigger, lest he actually destroy the instrument. Aiming was enough. The tricky part of drawing a symphony from the organ was not what targets you hit, but rather the targets a gunner threaded his sights around without triggering.

Deadeye answered his call. To Lurk's vision a series of targets lit up as another side of gunnery, the precision sniping side, obeyed his will as if it were his personal skill instead of a game mechanic. Deadeye was the discipline of the long gun. The reaching arm of high caliber wrath, or sustained, unceasing fire. Lurk reveled in the ability to apply a relentless stream of damage on target.

An endless feud raged within the long-range inclined players when it came to mechanical skill as opposed to in-game aim assist. Lurk could see both sides, and understood the appeal of being able to just hit a button and let percentage dice rolls and character stats determine whether shots landed. However, even though Lurk respected that belief, he still ascribed to the other school of thought. Skill should be rewarded, the draconic man believed. His love of the realistic dive shooter, Chernobyl Extraction was proof of that. The hardcore allure was too much to resist, and the game sold itself on leaning solely on player insight and mechanical function.

Launching his left talon straight while his right ankle turned. His shoulders stayed straight as his hips pivoted into a forward stance. Digging the butt of his rifle firmly into his shoulder, the Wyrmblood focused on his Autoloader ring. Before, all it took was a drop down menu or a verbal command.

"Load earthshaker." A reassuring click answered him as Entropy's magazine was packed with alternating explosive, frangible, and [Flak] shells. While his spell shells could not be augmented on creation, they could be enhanced by Entropy itself. Corresponding cores in relation to the ammo loaded lit up the gun, feeding their unique properties through the nests of cables cradling the artifacts. Bullets of material cost mixed with the spell shells.

_To aim. To fire. There is no hit. The target has already been hit. The Tetragrammaton is not the result, but the act. The result is written. Inevitable. Fate._

Lurk brought his gun up like a conductor's baton. The tip of Entropy flicked gracefully between targets. A bombastic symphony filled the cathedral. Its strokes were broad. Bold, multi-key notes bellowed forth as many targets were triggered simultaneously.

Lowering Entropy, the Tetragrammaton Cleric let the music fade from the [Cathedral of Brass].

"Load anti-armor." Another click as his ring flashed and the bullets in the magazine were replaced by a pattern of [Acid Claw] and armor-piercing shells with Darksteel cores.

Again, Lurk raised his rifle to create a fitting accompaniment. Rising crescendos marched up the organ. Lines of keys depressed as the slur notes rose in pitch, only to fall and start again.

"Load mage-slayer." Possibly his most expensive load, the Scarlettite hollow-points and ripper shells were useless against armor, but could cut through most lightly armored casters to devastating effect.

The symphony started low, building up suspense with deeper, resonant pipes that shook the air with its intensity. The pitch dipped lower, only reaching anything other than sonorous with gravely portentous notes.

"Load crowd control." Quickened rounds with occasional [Chain Dragon Lightning]. Lurk bent his forward leg down, planting his knee to give him better leverage over his gun.

As if there were three maestros playing in unison, a frenzied melody sprung forth, weaving between harmonics and clashes. The notes conjoined then separated then multiplied in a drug-fuelled frenzy of aural expression.

Ironically, many of his custom loadouts were gross overkill. Any skill or ability that utilized stored up magic was forbidden in dueling. Generally only foolish player-killers went hunting in the hazardous regions of Muspelheim where Black Sky Legion frequented. The new world had no such restrictions as far as Lurk could tell. Real life had no arbitrary rules that enforced balance. Reality was cruel that way.

Lurk eased Entropy down, letting the bombastic music fade until silence once again overtook the space. Though he did not know it at the time, the [Cathedral of Brass] acted like a tuning fork of massive size and let the sound of the pipe organ drift down the mountain all the way to the shelf of The Citadel's doors. Wrath and Ruin paused in their pushups to listen. Even Legion inclined his head for a moment to hear the faint tones carried by a favorable wind. Everyone who heard it, from Sharpshooter to Guardian all felt blessed.

Standing, the Wyrmblood looked back at the star in the floor, then up to the reversal clock still unmoved. Though he felt selfish for what he was about to ask, Lurk felt he was duty bound to insure he was ready to face any threat to The Citadel or his beloved.

[Message]

_Phage?_

_High Lord Lurk! My mind is blessed with your gracious contact._

_Hello, Phage, I hope you're well today._

_You are too considerate of a lowly Guardian, mighty King. I was actually just thinking of you, High Lord. I was pondering what book to read after this round of capture the fortress. What task would you have your Untouchable do?_

_The Forgemother mentioned your war games. They sound like a lot of fun. If you wouldn't mind, at some point later allowing me to sit in on one or two?_

_I... I... Would be thrilled! Please, High Lord, you need not ask. My Corsairs and I would be honored to have you attend one of our games. More than honored. Exonhorated! I am certain that your presence alone would be enough to spurn the Corsairs to heights of greatness._

_Glad to hear it, Phage. Thank you. Really. I would never be so discourteous as to just show up out of the blue. Regardless, I would ask a favor if you're not too busy._

_Name it, and no force on this world will keep me from such honor._

_Would you lend me twelve of your Corsairs for a short time? Half an hour, tops. Tell them to bring those training carbines. I've place a [Cathedral of Brass] at the top of our mountain. Please instruct them to meet me there._

_At once! I shall ask for volunteers._

_..._

_It seems they all volunteered. One moment, High Lord, and I'll have this sorted and the dozen you requested on their way. I'll make sure myself._

_If you're busy overseeing the rest-_

_No trouble at all, High Lord. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not personally make sure they performed to a Supreme Being's standards._

[End Message]

Lurk put away Entropy and sedately wandered to the gates of the Cathedral to wait for Phage on the generous landing platform. He enjoyed how clean the mountain air was while he waited. Clasping his claws behind his back, Lurk grinned, thinking he must look quite silly. But not silly enough to stop.

Being gifted with their unique brand of traversal, it only took the Plague Elves a few minutes to ascend the mountain in pillars of green fire. Ever punctual whenever it was at the behest of her Lord, Phage appeared first. The deadly beauty appeared and went down on one knee. Pale dress and even paler skin made her appear like a phantom in the stark sun. Her dozen Corsairs formed in a semi-circle behind their leader. They also manifested and showed their allegiance. Their long capes swirled in the wind.

"High Lord Lurk, Phage the Untouchable has answered your summons. My Corsairs and I are eager to serve you." She lifted her chin with an eager gleam in her acidic eyes.

"Rise, Phage. Stand, all of you." Lurk unclasped his claws and gestured for Phage and her group to rise. When everyone did so, the Wyrmblood turned.

"Welcome to the [Cathedral of Brass]. It's been a fine day for some drills. And I think all of you are perfect for what I need." He swept his arms out to encompass the Super Tier structure before clasping them behind his back once more. Lurk set off with a formal stride toward the doors. The Plague Elves all followed hotly on their Lord's heels. The gates of the Cathedral opened for the procession at Lurk's touch and closed again behind them.

Marching off to stand on the northern point once again, the Wyrmblood turned to address the Corsairs.

"Welcome, welcome. Good of you all to join me. I want to hear that clock tick." Lurk pointed straight up at the reversal clock. Every eye followed where he indicated, then back down to their Lord. "And I need you to shoot at me in order to make that happen."

"Holy Lord, that would be unforgivable of us!" Cried one of the Corsairs, before she dropped to both knees and pressed her forehead against the stone floor. The other Plague Elves bowed as well, nodding their agreement.

Though she wanted to admonish her underling for daring to speak in defiance against her Lord, Phage could not disagree.

Lurk paced over and offered his claw to the prostrating Corsair. Timidly, the slender female put her hand in the huge palm. After lifting her up, Lurk patted the Plague Elf on the shoulder.

"Believe me, if you hit me, I will be very impressed. Notice I didn't say 'shoot me'. I said, 'shoot at me'. Big difference." He looked around and made sure they all understood before taking his place at the center of the star.

As Lurk walked, he felt movement in a pocket of his greatcoat.

Of all things, Soot flopped out of Lurk's coat out onto the floor. The pudgy, walking explosive landed on his back with a thump and indignantly wiggled onto his feet before rubbing against Lurk's leg like an affectionate cat.

"Soot, how and when did you get there? I don't remember giving you Dimensional Imp." Bending down, Lurk rubbed the neck of his pet and laughed a bit. Every female Plague Elf present had to resist Soot's overwhelming cuteness. The men would never admit it, they had to restrain themselves as well.

"I'll take care of him, High Lord." Phage eagerly offered.

"Go on, go over to Phage." Lurk patted Soot's butt.

Hesitantly, the Gunpowder Dragon padded over to the Guardian.

Whilst visiting Cognitio, Phage had looked up the Gunpowder Dragon. Specifically, what the little dragons liked to eat. She had procured several sticks of charcoal and fetched one from her inventory. Luckily, the charred wood was technically already 'ruined' enough to not disintegrate from her touch. Her silk gloves were enough protection to preserve the stick. Phage moved out of her Lord's way and held out the charcoal.

The overgrown lizard sped up as soon as he saw the offered treat. Phage sat down on the floor and coaxed Soot up into her lap. The bundle of anarchy wiggled into the soft fabric of her dress. Soot grumbled happily as Phage stroked down his back and fed him more charcoal. He was one of the only living creatures she could touch and not harm, owing to his indestructible nature.

With his pet taken care of, Lurk spoke to the Corsairs once more.

"So what I need from you twelve, is to move in two groups of six. Inner and outer ring." The Wyrmblood pointed and the Corsairs dutifully split themselves into groups. "Inner moves clockwise. Outer moves counter-clockwise. Fire one full magazine, or if I instruct you to stop."

Once Lurk was satisfied that the Plague Elves were all thirty or so feet away along the points of the star and appropriately spaced into the two rings he had described, his claws went to his side in readiness.

"Begin," Lurk commanded.

The inner and outer circle began turning in opposite directions. Drawing their practice repeater carbines, the Black Sky soldiers fell to their duty. Although the Corsairs still had reservations at first at the idea of firing upon their creator, Lurk's direct orders outweighed their hesitance. That, and they were only using training bolts with blunted tips.

Triggers were pulled, and mechanisms whirred, unleashing fletched wooden shafts.

Lurk moved like a man walking between raindrops. His coat billowed and flowed with him. The Wyrmblood was conservative in his movements, adjusting himself just far enough out of the way that the air disturbance given off by the fletching of the bolts whispered across his scales. Much like meditating, it required him to relax his mind. After adopting the appropriate Kata, he just let the form do its work. He could feel where the bolts would go, and his only consciously needed effort was deciding how far to move.

Time dilation kicked in. As cliched as it was, the YGGDRASIL devs had named the set of skills that turned dodges into temporal distortion 'bullet time'. They had watched far too many action movies whilst designing job classes that branched from Valkyrie's Downfall and the subsequent expansions. Then again, Lurk loved those movies too. Many branches of various job sets had similar effects. From 'witch time' to 'adrenaline' skills. While any self-respecting player expecting to engage in player versus player combat wore Temporal rings in one form or another, the bullet time skills did not target the enemy. It only affected Lurk and his dodge chance. The first few bolts avoided then cascaded into a swelling of the effect.

Far above the nave, the reversing clock began whirring madly. As Lurk dodged and moved between more bolts and time bent and slowed, the whirring slowed to rapid ticking. Once the highest tier of bullet time was in effect, the clock began running at a normal pace.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He knew they would be hesitant at first, not quite ready to just lay on the trigger. To their eyes, Lurk seemed to move instantly. They were aiming and firing at where he was, yet as soon as their weapons discharged, he was no longer there. The Wyrmblood turned here, dropped a shoulder or lifted an arm there. His legs flicked through stances in a specific sequence that was predicated on an exact firing sequence from the Plague Elves.

Losing himself to the trance of the exercise was cathartic. Knowing he could make his body move the way he wanted was exhilarating. The Grand Ball had been one thing, but the dive still had limits. The weight of the coat pressed against his scales. The segmented silver breastplate moved with his breath. The fresh scent of mountain air filled his nostrils and lungs. The bolts whistled as they cut through space he occupied then vacated faster than the blunted projectiles could chase. The sleeves of his coat snapped at the crisp turn of his limbs.

It was real. He was real. His control and Tetragrammaton skills were real too.

Once at full effect, Lurk leisurely waited patiently for the Corsairs to empty the rest of their ammunition. As he turned his body on automatic, the Tetragrammaton Cleric reveled in the satisfying tick of the reversal clock. And his body enjoyed the warmup.

After the last bolt flew by, normal time reasserted itself and Lurk grinned. Phage politely applauded her Lord's effort as the Corsairs stared in esteem and veneration for the display they had been lucky enough to witness.

"Alright, again please." Lurk looked between the Corsairs in his direct sight, fixing his attention on a single point as the Plague Elves all reloaded in his peripheral vision. Rolling his shoulders, Lurk got into a wide stance and held his arms straight up and out to either side.

"Begin." He commanded.

Bolder the second time, the Corsairs opened up with bursts. Once more the Ancient Incarnate knew exactly what was coming at him, from where and what angle. With his new Kata, rather than evasion he activated his passive [Point Defense].

Phantom hands holding ethereal pistols sprung into existence. Magically summoned bullets intercepted each bolt immediately after it left the carbines. Gunshots layered on top of one another in a blistering rhythm. Wooden shafts splintered into pieces as the training bolts were split by Lurk's passive skill. Showers of debris collected in drifts in the rotating rings of elven boots.

[Point Defense] could not block everything in a real combat situation. Some spells and other attacks did not exist as projectiles, or by their nature were impossible to deflect. But against assaults that fell under such criteria, the passive did good work. It negated everything below a certain level and mitigated damage caused by higher tier projectile attacks.

Without bullet time, the turning of the two rings happened quite a bit faster.

Throughout the entire exercise, Lurk did not move an inch. Only once the carbines were empty once more and the Plague elves had stopped did Lurk relax his stance. Phage clapped more softly so as not to disturb Soot who had dozed off, curled nose to tail in her lap.

"Very good. Alright, this next one's got a bit of a twist to it. I'm going to be returning your bolts back at you. If you get hit, just stop moving, okay?" He looked around and made sure all the Corsairs had reloaded and nodded in understanding before taking his next kata.

"Begin!" He said with greater confidence, opening and closing his claws in anticipation.

Once more he flowed through the motion as bolts sailed towards him.

Feeling the flow, the disturbance. The simple intimate and irrefutable knowledge of where every bolt was and where each was going filled him. A panoply of three dimensional puzzles made of velocity and trajectory. It was as easy as plucking a hummingbird from the air. In fact his claw moved so quickly that he simply had to twist his digits to send the bolt straight back at its shooter. The reversal clock barely started whirring before all twelve Corsairs had been struck.

Everyone reset one more time.

"The last is simple, but the most important." Lurk held up a coin as he spoke. "I'm going to toss this in the air. As soon as it hits the floor, I want all of you to fire one bolt at me, alright? Just one."

With grave seriousness, every Plague Elf nodded at their Lord's command.

One final nod was all lurk gave before flicking the coin high into the air. Corsairs lifted their carbines, fingers on their triggers as they glided in their alternating rings. The gold caught the light, flashing the tree, then Valkyrie back and forth as it hit the zenith of its flip then tumbled back to the ground.

Ting!

The metallic ring echoed through the [Cathedral of Brass].

Twelve triggers were pulled in unison. Even while the click of mechanisms engaging, loosing potential energy into kinetic force, Lurk knew where the bolts would be.

There was no room for thought. If he had to think, then he would be too slow. And if it was a real threat, a real battle, then if he was too slow, he would be dead. Lurk simply imparted on his body what he wanted to happen, and found the appropriate nerve and sinew to snap or make sing in order to accomplish it. Both of his arms outstretched and he gathered up the twelve in a full half turn, before jumping. In the jump he continued his spin, but as his arms came close to his chest, absorbing the bolts, he threw them back out again.

Lurk landed and completed his turn. Before his talons came to rest back on the floor, the twelve Corsairs all stumbled back where their return bolts had struck them in the chest.

The move had taken no more than a second, yet was absolute in eliminating the mock assailants. [Counter Fire] did not have to use the enemy's own shots against them, but it could. Usually the skill made any fighting riposte after dodging do more damage. An effective tool in the Tetragrammaton repertoire.

"Bravo! Bravo! Magnificent!" Phage clapped her silk wrapped hands with gusto, and Soot grumbled before adjusting himself.

Each of the Corsairs went down on one knee before their king.

"Thank you for helping, everyone. Thank you for taking time away from what you were doing to indulge my desire to hear a silly old clock. If any of you wish to return, the Cathedral is open to any member of Black Sky at any time." Lurk stretched his neck and let out a relieved sigh.

Phage waved a hand and her own version of [Clean] dissolved the spent bolts and scattered debris from the mess of splinters from the Cathedral nave. Then the Guardian spoke.

"Holy Lord, if... You would entertain the desires of those unworthy, may we linger awhile? Perhaps let our minds fill with the teachings of the hymns?" Phage asked what her Corsairs were all silently begging.

Though at first surprised, a wide smile soon split Lurk's scaly muzzle.

"Well, I did say the Cathedral was open to anyone, at any time."


	10. In Sickness And In Health

The city-state kingdom of Kadusia had sat upon its hilltop, surveying the rich fields of its sweeping plains, and wild woods for centuries. Her tall stone walls had withstood siege, famine, plague, and the jealous advances of her rivals and neighbors. Despite the unyielding might of the stone and the bravery in the hearts of the men who watched over that city, they were only that, men. Fallible.

Mortal.

In a world wherein ancient dragons and lost demi-gods dwelled, woefully little was sympathetic to the plight of man.

"I need help over here!" The Kadusian guard sergeant shouted. He glanced to either side for half a second.

All the time he could spare.

Around him, the other soldiers of the city guard were equally engaged with their undead foes. The guard sergeant grimaced and hurriedly reloaded his crossbow. At such a close range, he placed his shot into the head of the approaching zombie even though his hands were shaking. He was one of several soldiers who had broken off to draw attention from the flanks of the horde, hoping to get them away from the throng of innocent civilians trying to get to safety.

A sinkhole had opened just outside the gates where the battle with the Bandit King had taken place, the ground crumbling away to reveal a writhing pit of undead that crawled and shambled forth.

Arrows and bolts from the wall fell into the growing mass to little effect. Zombies or occasional skeletons would sometimes fall. However, the horde was growing far faster than what could be put down. Normally, undead were weak. Little more than a nuisance. They were really only dangerous to the isolated or inexperienced. Undead were an insistent plague upon the country. This was different. Like the great blights of old which threatened the entire continent with destruction.

There had been panic as the civilians coming and going along the road either scattered or tried running into the safety of the city. The gates were a bottleneck that slowed progress as wagons and horses blocked the way. Inside the walls, the guards were desperately trying to sort the situation so they could close the gates. Meanwhile, it was up to the soldiers on the outside to fend off the undead until reinforcements could arrive. The host of dead could not be allowed into the city.

As more and more undead poured from the wound in the soil, the situation rapidly turned to one of desperation.

The few city guard on the ground were each making their own hopeless stand as they quickly became outnumbered a hundred to one. Their fellows on the walls lent what support they could. Braziers and fire arrows were on standby in some of the towers. Yet the gaping maw festered faster than it could be cauterized by the limited fire.

A larger, fiercer looking undead warrior reared up before the man. With a slap of its shield, the half-skeleton bashed zombies out of its way and lurched towards the sergeant. There was not enough time to load his crossbow again, so the Kadusian abandoned it. From his training he knew that crushing weapons were most effective against such enemies.

From his belt loop, he drew forth his war pick and turned it over so that the crushing hammer was at the ready.

The man took a step forward and feinted a blow at the revenant's knee. Just as he hoped, the skeletal warrior lowered its shield to block and the Kadusian guard altered the angle of his attack and drove the hammer side of his pick deep into the blighted thing's skull. The temple collapsed into the eye socket with a hollow crunch of rotting flesh and wet bone, extinguishing the hellish pinprick of light on that side.

However, the enemy did not fall. The skeletal warrior brought down its own sword. With reflexes born of fear and adrenaline, the city guard caught the wrist of his enemy before the blade could chop into his shoulder. Gambeson would not stop such unholy power. With his other hand, the Kadusian desperately tried to free his weapon from the half-caved skull. But it was stuck fast in the bone.

Unnatural might pushed him down, forcing him onto one knee. The man's elbows shook, trying to hold back the blade as it came down. Down. Down. He grit his teeth, and wanted to call for help once again, yet could not risk breaking his concentration. He was alone. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging his vision as he abandoned the handle of his war pick to hold back the bony wrist with both hands. Human strength was not nearly enough. All around the Kadusian men on the ground were being pushed back. Those who could not get away were cut to ribbons or torn to pieces.

Closer and closer, the sergeant faced his grisly end. The chipped and pitted blade sought to tear into fresh meat. His foe leered at him, jaw hanging from tattered scraps of maggot-riddled flesh as it moaned. Its remaining red eye grew brighter at the prospect of a kill.

Salvation came for the man in the form of a rifle bullet. The medium caliber hunk of metal shattered the rest of the revenant's skull, leaving only the stump of neck bones protruding. As the stuck war pick fell, the monster went slack before the unholy magic holding it together faded. Without ligament, the undead fell to pieces.

Black Sky Legion had come.

Up on the walls, the Sharpshooters of Lapua Magnum's team feverishly worked their Ninety-Nines. Every retort of the long guns meant another monster was returned to their rightful grave. Skulls were popped. Torsos ruptured. Soon the pressure eased enough for the surviving Kadusians to regroup and make a protective cordon between the retreating civilians and the blight. The sergeant shouted orders to rally his men and was more than happy to handle the stragglers.

Silver Knights leapt from the high walls of the city to join the fray. They landed with their shields at the ready and charged forward. Forming into a line, the Silver Knights speared into the fetid throng of undead. With their own abilities, the winged helms marked their progress slicing through the tide. And their hymn of war lifted the hearts of the defenders.

Streaking over the battlements on a wave of psionic energy, Lapua entered the fighting as well. She hovered above the horde, easily keeping out of reach. As if moving across the keys of a musical instrument, her four hands danced to the frenzied melody of the battle. A brace of magelock firearms spread before the Neverborn, each firing their one shot before being replaced by a fresh one. They spun through fan patterns as they unleashed a steady rhythm of fire. Lapua's hands worked their magic, conservatively applying her force as she assessed the situation.

Like a lightning rod, the undead were drawn towards Lapua even though they could not reach her.

"[Volley]." Lapua calmly used the Tetragrammaton Disciple class ability. A hundred magelocks appeared in staggered lines at ground level before the horde. In ordered rows, the guns lit off as if they were held by an infantry formation. Strikers fell, and a wave of magic bullets cut through reanimated dead. As the front ranks of undead dropped, the next line of magelocks fired.

Then the next.

Then again.

Gunpowder smoke obscured part of the battle as chunks of undeath were sent screaming from the land of the living.

Rifle grenades from the Sharpshooters up on the walls thudded into the denser pockets of undead to clear away the chaff. Rotten flesh and limbs were torn to pieces as the grenades detonated on contact. Dirt and zombie parts erupted from the blasts. Dull whumps could be felt as force of the explosives were absorbed by the rising mounds of corpses.

They made sure their leader, Lapua, did not have to waste too much of her precious mana or skills on the meatshields.

The horde gradually shrank as it was hemmed in from multiple angles. Whenever a segment threatened to break through the noose, Lapua would summon a simple wall of magelocks or the Sharpshooters would focus their fire. It seemed the battle would just be cleanup from that point forth. None of the undead present could scratch the Living Armor of the Black Sky soldiers.

Then the Death Knights emerged. From the center of the pit, rising through the churning mass, the towering Death Knights were summoned into the world of the living. A wretched assembly of them yelled, forming a hateful chorus as they charged through their lesser fellows. Without a controlling necromancer they were compelled only to slaughter. Driven by a ceaseless rage, they charged the Silver Knights. Quick action from the Sharpshooters meant that at least two fewer made it into striking distance of their brothers.

Blades clashed so loudly that those up on the walls could clearly hear the blows being traded between the undead and the Living Armor of Black Sky.

Jagged flamberges clanged against polished tower shields and were met in turn by thrusting winged spears. Swords that could cut a man in half from crown to groin moved with whistling speed. Swiftness that should not have been possible from hideous undead of such size. The Silver Knights met the monstrous undead blow for blow. Yet the melee was chaotic and the Silver Knights were outnumbered. For every four strikes they blocked, one would make it through. The shining soldiers were surrounded by their dark counterparts.

Lapua Magnum reacted quickly to the credible threat the Death Knights posed.

She began to chant, beseeching the fire in her soul, of her home of Muspelheim come aid her to incinerate her foes. Heat distortion surrounded her psionic halo and every summoned gun floating around her moved into place. The crystal strikers of her magelocks turned cherry red as they were imbued with fiery energy.

Every one of her many fingers mimicked pulling a trigger.

Lines of red lanced towards the monstrous undead.

Reacting instinctively, the Death Knights raised their shields. However, Lapua was leagues apart from the middle-tier undead and her halo flared with light. Her many fingers wove new trajectories for her bullets and they curved around the Death Knight's shields to strike true. Although the shots had enough power to destroy the hellish creatures, the Death Knight's unique skill meant that they survived. Held together by an infernal will that meant they could survive any single attack no matter how much damage. The undead could face-tank Super Tier after all.

What they could not handle was damage over time, as all it took was being hit and then set on fire to finish them off.

Even so, the monsters went down swinging as they burned. Flamberges rose and fell. Rose and fell. Yet could find no gaps in the ring of steel. The Silver Knights stood shoulder to shoulder, covering each other with their shields. As the animating magic faded, the twisted armor contorted and folded in on itself, Imploding into balls of spiked steel. The battlefield at last grew quieter. One Death Knight struggled on for a few seconds before succumbing to the flame.

Only once the final opposing knight crumbled did the Silver Knights break ranks while Sharpshooters picked off the few shamblers left crawling from the pit.

Lapua landed among her troops as the last of her magelocks vanished.

"Is everyone alright?" The Neverborn asked, still keeping one eye on the pit. Her psionic senses were useless in detecting the undead.

"We took a few hits, Lady Lapua. Nothing a repair kit won't fix." One of the least injured knights responded as his brothers slapped patches over gashes in their plate.

"Very good. Stay vigilant until I make sure the pit is safe." She commanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

While the Black Sky soldiers conversed, the sergeant who had survived his earlier encounter came forward. He glanced about in awe as zombie heads intermittently popped nearby. Though he flinched at the loud retort of the Demi-Claw's rifles. Wiping blood and sweat from his brow, the man stepped around the still smoking husks of the Death Knights.

"Master Seeker Magnum, the city is immeasurably grateful to the Seekers this day. I shall see to it personally that a contract is filled out in your name."

"My actions are for the glory of Black Sky Legion. Remember that, Kadusian." Lapua was not harsh in her chastisement. However, she would never let an opportunity slip to exalt the name of Black Sky.

"Yes, miss Lapua Magnum!" The sergeant straightened. "I've seen undead plagues before, ma'am. But never anything sudden like this. They just started boilin' out o' the ground like a kicked over anthill. What could've caused this? And what were these big 'uns?" He asked as a man desperate for reason among the madness, staring at the imploded metal husks.

Ever diligent, Lapua summoned forth her requested copy of common monsters and magical artifacts of the nine world of YGGDRASIL. Floating beside her, the book flipped open to the relevant Death Knight entry in the bestiary section with a psionic flick.

"I suspect foul play. Death Knights are not from this world originally. They reek of Helheim." Lapua folded two of her arms over her courtly curiass and gestured with the other two. She read over the Death Knight entry in more detail and consulted the book further for best practices for handling undead aftermath.

"Keep the civilians away from this gate for now. Direct traffic elsewhere until the area is certain to be safe. Get the best holy magic users you have down here to cleanse the soil. You do not want this poison getting into the city or the crops. Then gather up all these bodies. Nothing fancy is necessary. The have already been altered by the necromancy. What's important is that they are burned. Burn it all, cleanse the ash, then burn it again. Keep running it through fire until the undeath is fully cleansed."

Although the sergeant's head spun, he waved over his men to begin dividing them into groups.

"Alright, I need three of you to run up the road and make sure no one comes down this way. Direct them over to the southern gate. Keep your eyes sharp for any stragglers that may have wandered off." The three that the sergeant pointed to split off and jogged away, giving the pit a wide berth.

Lastly, the field commander split the remaining bunch into two squads.

"You lot guard the civilians until that gate gets closed, make sure our wounded get inside too. Then come help the rest of us. Everyone else start getting bodies away from that pit. We've got some pyres to light. Everything gets burned."

As the sergeant moved to join his men, two groups of Seekers ran towards Lapua. The Seekers were a motley bunch. Colorful, in the way that freelance adventurers often were. A cluster of individual skills, bound together through hardship and the pursuit of fame, fortune, or both.

"Master Seeker Lapua! We're here to help. Though you seem to have things well in hand. What can we do?" Asked one of the leaders, a scarred young man who could not have been shaving for long. The Seekers behind him were also on the youthful side, with eyes that had seen horrors beyond their years.

The other leader was a hardened woman who was as stoic as the old walls of Kadusia who was busy assessing the strength of the undead horde. Her group of grizzled veterans likewise surveyed the furrows in the land, carved by Lapua's magic.

Both bands of Seekers had witnessed Lapua's entry and subsequent meteoric rise through the organization. Although wary of such a powerful individual, in moments of crisis, the pair had enough integrity to set aside their personal feelings and respect Lapua's might.

"Do you know of any plant that wards away bad spirits? Eucalyptus? Jasmine? Rosemary?" The Neverborn remained impatient, hiding it by tapping her may fingers against her arms.

"Yes, Master Seeker, rosemary." The older woman answered.

"After the pit is cleansed and all the ash twice burned, pack all of it back together. Half dirt. Half ash. Then plant that rosemary. No necromantic energy will linger and it should make certain that this can't happen again. Not for a long time, at least. The guard will need your help getting everything cremated. The faster, the better."

"You get all that, lads?" The scarred young man roused his group and set off with gusto. After giving a final, lingering stare, the other Seeker led her group to follow.

Lapua let out a sigh of exasperation. She found it immensely tiresome to handle so many different political fronts. Her admiration for her Supreme Beings only increased as she understood the strain of juggling all the conflicting interest groups.

There was still work to be done.

"[Greater Detect Magic]." After the spell, the color of the countryside became muted. Small ripples of a purplish hue emanated from the center of the pit. Like an infected bruise, the ugly violet was undercut by a gangrenous olive color.

Walking unhindered through the smoldering regolith of bodies lining the pit, Lapua made her way to the middle. Reaching out with telekinetic hands, she took her time, feeling every square inch for traps. There were several. None that were a threat to her, but if the Kadusian guard or the Seekers managed to beat back the tide of summoned undead they would have paid a dear price for their victory.

Toxic clouds and bone spike traps would have triggered while attempting to pierce the arcane veil. And if the enchantments had been attacked directly, it would have unleashed an [Anti-Life Nova]. When laid as a delayed trap, the spell was much easier to cast.

Peeling back the web of snares, Lapua burrowed through the layers until she reached the festering heart of the corruption. Turning her hand, Lapua gave a wrenching motion and pulled the offending object from its cradle. From the depths of the pit, a simple skull rose. Buoyed along, it floated into Lapua's waiting hand.

To all outward appearances, the half-melted skull would not have seemed out of place in the pile.

"[Magic Item Appraisal]."

Knowledge flooded into the Neverborn as her spell revealed the skull's secrets.

It was a Death Lure. An object given the enchantment would slowly generate a necrotic charge. Its effectiveness was muted by the fact that it took time to reach critical mass. Though it was capable of summoning a huge horde of low-tier and occasional middle-tier undead equal to [Undeath Army]. Whereas the spell could do it instantly. Whoever had placed the Death Lure was both clever and malicious. Only a powerful necromancer could have gone to such lengths.

At least in Lapua's psionic mind, there was little doubt that the Death Lure was otherworldly in origin. It was a perfect match for the sketch of such objects in her book. She put away the tome and the enchanted skull to finish her business.

After ordering the Sharpshooters to begin incinerating the pit with the Silver Knights to supervise, the Neverborn searched the trailing thoughts of the city guard to find her target. Lapua moved with purpose, parting the marshaling soldiers with simple mental suggestion.

"Captain! Captain Reese!" Lapua shouted over the din of civil unrest and fearful men.

In among the throng of city guard ushering the last of the Kadusians through the gates, Warren Reese fervently directed efforts.

Although he turned to Lapua, the Captain was greatly distracted by something other than the narrowly averted undead incursion.

"Yes, Lady Lapua?" He might have stretched a rictus grin in most other circumstances, yet the man could not even muster up the desire to fake being happy to see the Neverborn.

"There's a bit of an urgent matter regarding the source of the undead..." Lapua trailed off, unable to ignore the tumult of thoughts worming their way through Warren's mind like so many parasitic wyrms.

"The Queen is very sick. You fear she may die." Lapua stated, looking to the Kadusian palace. She did not even glance back at Reese as she marched off. Her goal was clear.

"You can't just-" Warren stepped in front of the Neverborn and placed a hand out to forestall the foreign agent from casually waltzing into the royal palace. Unfortunately for the man, it was child's play for Lapua to simply tune her halo and teleport away.

Lapua reappeared right outside Queen Ismeena's bedroom.

Guards moved towards the Black Sky agent. A small mental suggestion assured them that not only had Lapua been there the whole time, but that she was supposed to be. They resumed their earlier discussion, worrying about their queen. About the future of Kadusia, should their beloved monarch not recover. Talk died down as attendants carried an unconscious man through the antechamber. The head wizard of Kadusia was surprisingly young for his station. Middle-aged, yet prime. He had driven himself to mana exhaustion in trying nearly every spell in his repertoire to heal his Queen. Ultimately, to no avail.

Entering in after the procession, Lapua read the atmosphere as dread-filled as the citizens had been outside the walls. Many of the female handmaidens hung on the edge of full breakdowns.

Queen Ismeena Belgrave did not sleep so much as lay in a catatonic state. Her eyes were almost closed as her mind drifted, boiling in a fever haze.

Lapua placed two of her hands carefully on the Queen's temples and reached out with her psionic power.

The Queen was so weak that the sickness could be driven back by spells or potions, yet nothing could keep her strong enough to make sure it did not return. And this time, it was rooted deeply. Resurrection magic could not bring back someone so frail. Being so fragile, Lapua did not risk simply pump the brittle human full of healing magic. Ismeena's heart would likely give out from the strain. A minuscule trickle of power connected the two.

Lapua coaxed Ismeena's life force with the greatest care. The Neverborn sheltered the candle of the Queen's spirit before the gale trying to swallow it. A candle that had burned so low, it was a drowning blue pinprick, feebly paddling on the surface of the dark wax that was all that remained of itself. Too much heat and the last of the wick would be consumed. Too little, and it would starve. Slowly, weight was lifted from Ismeena's lungs. Brought back from the brink, precious oxygen propped up the dying Queen and a color other than ghost returned to her cheeks. Some of the dangerous fever drained away in turn.

Muttering a chant of trigger discipline, Lapua dedicated a small partition of herself to maintaining her connection while the rest of her contacted Nox and explained all that had happened.

Then, she settled in to wait.

Panting from having ran there, Reese charged into the room, yet was not expecting Lapua to be the only thing standing between his monarch and death. Any protest turned to ash in Warren's mouth as he chastised the attendants for not getting Lapua a chair or a drink before he did it himself. Without breaking her concentration, she sat on the light pine chair and reached one of her secondary arms to beckon the man to stay.

"It's not necessary, Mister Reese, but it is appreciated."

"How's she doing?"

"Better. Not in immediate risk, anyway. This is beyond my skill. I don't know what will fix her without killing her."

"But... You have such powerful magic." Reese pleaded.

"Imagine setting a bone, and letting it heal wrong. Right now, I'm keeping her heart beating and her lungs filling. That's where much of the damage is."

Opening, then closing his mouth, Reese searched for the right words to express his helplessness and despair. For a moment, he could not look at his Queen so stricken. Then he forced himself to look, and remember her strength of spirit, and be strong himself. A chitinous hand patted his back.

"Don't fret, Warren. If Queen Ismeena can be saved, then Queen Harmony will know how to do it." As she spoke, Lapua stood and turned. Keeping one hand on Ismeena, the Neverborn bowed as Harmony came into the room as a warrior-goddess at rest. Out of Grand Alliance, she had thrown on a black blouse and comfortable jeans. Gold hairpins and jewelry hung in whimsical drifts through her crimson curls as the Scarlet Drake had been mid hair-taming when the call for aid had come.

"Queen Harmony, I have performed only emergency first aid to insure that Queen Ismeena is stabilized. Your powers of healing far outstrip my own, and your wisdom is without peer."

Harmony took the seat that Lapua offered her while Lurk hung back to let his wife concentrate. Lurk's attire was more calculated, eschewing his coat, but retaining the segmented curiass and belts.

"Thank you, Lapua. I'll take it from here." Harmony placed her palm over Ismeena's forehead and let her High Priestess powers come to the fore. She could innately feel how much mana was in her pool, the many spells in her repertoire, memorized as fresh as the day she selected them back in YGGDRASIL. They filled her with warmth and light and life such that she could acutely feel the fading chill gnawing on the edge of Ismeena's remaining spirit.

"[Detect Life]."

Ismeena's life force flickered as a candle before a wind elemental. Death was calling the woman as her vitality balanced on a razor's edge so fine she almost did not appear to [Detect Life]. So close, Harmony could see the faint pulse of a heartbeat struggling to overcome the mortal stillness in the Queen's limbs.

"[Protection of the First Flame]. [Blessing of Ifrit]. [Death Ward]."

The spells were simple ones. Chosen for efficiency, utility, and their ability to stack with one another. One by one, the enchantments fell over the Queen until her breathing became less labored and a color other than gray returned to her face. Reese and the royal handmaidens all watched with fear and hope as Ismeena gained a faint aura from the lingering glow of the spells.

Neither Lurk nor Woodsolution had dedicated healing classes. Which left Harmony to be her own support as a tank. Just as Lurk had optimized his build for gunnery, she had made hers entirely to do whatever her friend and husband could not. Most of her High Priestess grimoire was picked to unify the abilities of her Aegis of Muspelheim. Her job had always been to anchor the front line through attrition. And she had become exceedingly good at it through years of practice.

Harmony waited patiently as the buffs worked through the woman, anchoring her soul to her body just in case things did go awry. As well as provide a warm place for the fading light within the Queen to rest.

"[Heal]."

The sickness in Ismeena burned away like a cobweb before a blowtorch. Dead nerves flashed back to life. Atrophied muscles regenerated. Childhood weakness that had plagued the Belgrave woman was erased before power equal to a lifetime of healing potions. Enchanting buffs kept Ismeena's cardiovascular system from collapsing as her body went through its subtle changes. A sterile scent, not far from rubbing alcohol filled the room.

Ismeena's eyes fluttered open as she inhaled a sharp breath.

The Queen started upon seeing Harmony sitting so close, being the first thing to come into focus.

Reese nearly threw himself onto the bed.

"Your Majesty! How are you feeling?" His knuckles were nearly white, holding onto his helmet.

Ismeena refocused and blinked at Reese a few times as her senses returned. Although a bit disheveled, the Queen sat up in bed. Two handmaidens ran forward to help. Their Queen waved them away.

"I feel absolutely fantastic. Never better! Not in years. Not since I was a little girl wandering around the northern fields." Ismeena threw the many layers of blankets off of herself, quite warm. She put a hand to her chest and marveled at how easy it was to simply breathe.

"I'm glad that worked. I was worried. Here, this should help you recover." Harmony slipped a necklace over Ismeena's head. It was wrought into a traditional Celtic knot and hung from a silver chain. Amulets of vitality were an YGGDRASIL staple.

An Amulet of Vitality gave a modest bonus to maximum hit points and strength. It was a ubiquitously utilitarian piece of kit. Only used until a player could make something more specialized with data crystals. Harmony felt no draconic pang upon giving away the little trinket. Amulets of Vitality were so basic they were almost less than worthless. Not only were they only a step or two above starter gear, but at one point an NPC shopkeeper back in YGGDRASIL had become glitched and whenever a purchase was made, equal value in Amulets of Vitality were given instead.

Harmony had discovered this the hard way after attempting to restock. Then, thinking it was a momentary glitch, did the substantial transaction again and walked away with several hundred of the amulets.

Lifting the amulet, Ismeena examined the interwoven lines of the knot. Whatever lingering weakness from being bedridden was washed away as the equipment did its job. One monarch looked to the other.

"Merciful heavens, it seems I owe you another debt, Queen Harmony." Although she smiled, Ismeena quashed an unsightly pang of jealousy as her eyes darted over the crimson and gold that flecked Harmony's face and glittered among her curls. Beautiful and strong. Strong enough to carry a burden, rather than be one.

"Don't worry about it. I have way too many of those stupid amulets, and I'm sure it'll help. How are you feeling? Does anything feel funny? Hard to breathe? Pain?"

Trying to control the shaking in his hands, Reese walked by Lurk without making eye contact and out of the room. Though he did give a quick nod out of respect before departing. Lapua followed closely behind Reese and consulted with her Lord quietly while Harmony did her best medical professional impersonation.

"High Lord Lurk, your timing could not have been more perfect. Thank you for answering my humble request. I would not have troubled you or the Fair Lady Harmony unless absolutely necessary."

"You were right to call, Lapua. I would consider Ismeena dying a worst case scenario for our relationship with Kadusia. I trusted this wasn't a Nitro kind of emergency." Lurk chuckled.

"Just so, High Lord."

"Harmony always did enjoy being a healer."

"Her power is wasted on a mere human. But if she enjoys such things, then my heart is a bit lighter for deferring to her boundless skill." Lapua scoffed. Though she had grown at least a bit fonder of the Kadusians, the Neverborn would have sacrificed any and all of them for any single member of Black Sky.

"Nox told me there was an unusual undead incursion?" Lurk changed the subject to what he believed to be the more pressing concern.

"Yes, High Lord Lurk. I found this in the pit where the undead emerged." Lapua held out the Death Lure as a supplicant, lowering her head and offering the skull in two open palms. Warily, Lurk took the weaponized bone.

"You think this is from YGGDRASIL?" Lurk traced a claw over the intact eye socket of the melted skull. Even dormant, he could sense the MP needed to reactivate it.

"It's likely, sire. I don't think even the most experienced Seeker could have manufactured a Death Lure. Especially not one that would maintain its enchantment after being used.

"We know they have tier magic, but that could be coincidental. This would be the first sign of other YGGDRASIL objects. And where there's one, there's likely more." Rubbing his chin, Lurk vaguely recalled similar items. Only rarely did he venture into Helheim, and rarer still for anything other than raw material.

"Yes, sir. We can test it, if you feel it prudent to do so. Though I don't advise doing it near any population center. Only your great wisdom in ordering me to watch over the city made sure that someone was in position to contain the threat."

Lowering the skull, Lurk gave his full attention to the Neverborn.

"You've done very well, Lapua Magnum. I'm proud of your initiative and judgment." Hoping his praise came across as genuine, Lurk added a smile to help get the message through.

Lapua's eyes glistened and her chest swelled with pride. Even though she did not need air to speak, her words caught in her throat regardless. She clasped both sets of hands in front of her and fell to her knees in joy.

"Your words are too much for a lowly Disciple, Cleric."

"Do you want anything special? You've earned a reward. And stand up, silly."

"No! I could never, High Lord. Your praise is more reward than I could have ever dreamed of. No, your mere presence!"

"Nonsense. It would be unjust of a leader not to compensate someone for a job well done. And I would hate to be unfair or unjust. Within reason, of course."

Only when framed as a detriment to her Lord, did Lapua actually consider what she might want.

"Well... If..." Hesitantly, a tiny hope blossomed. "Since you summoned the [Cathedral of Brass]... Would I perhaps be allowed to meditate with you, High Lord?"

Though he raised a brow, Lurk was beginning to understand how the classes and racials influenced the inhabitants of The Citadel.

"You just want to meditate? Sure. I see no reason we couldn't do that. Go help entertain Harmony and Ismeena. Contact me later this evening when you'd like to, alright?"

"Yes! Yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you. Thank you, High Lord. Your kindness is greater than I deserve, yet I will not be the one to sully your holy word."

Practically skipping, Lapua went to Ismeena's bedside and followed her Lord's instructions to the letter. The Neverborn addressed both Queens.

"Fair Lady Harmony, I simply must show you to a dress maker in the city. The tailor at Ramon's Finery has the ability to make gemcloth, and I believe a ball gown of ruby would flatter you."

"Ramon's Finery? Truly? The tailor there knows gemcloth? Why, we must head there at once!" Ismeena declared, swinging her legs off the bed.

"Queen Ismeena, you mustn't strain yourself." One of the handmaidens pleaded.

"Tish tosh, Fara. As I said earlier, I haven't felt this fine since I was a little girl. Besides, I would not qualify dress fitting as strenuous exercise."

Harmony gave a feminine laugh and relished the prospect of a girl date. The idea of dress shopping was greatly enticing to her. Another thing that the old world only offered to the obscenely rich.

Even as Lurk pondered all that was and might be, the girls talked about their plans to go dress shopping. Possibly lingerie browsing. Then to get their hair done up. Then crossbow shooting, of all things. Mostly because one of the finest restaurants for the rich and powerful boasted an indoor range meant to pique the guests appetite and order overpriced drinks.

Even though it was far from a hospital room, the healing magic had given the space a natural antiseptic smell. And Lurk hated that smell. And was grateful for Harmony and Lapua plying their feminine charm to give him a reason to escape.

So he excused himself and went out to get some fresh air. An effort that was slightly hampered, considering the drizzle that had fallen over the city. Even at the center of Kadusia, he could spy the towering pillar of smoke from the burning pit of undead bodies. Once, Lurk had the horrific pleasure of witnessing a field of oil derricks catch flame. He pondered the comparison and rubbed the grooves of the Death Lure. Without his coat, the water did not bother him a wit, vaporizing to steam on contact with Lurk's scales because of his passives.

There was no use in wondering what had been brought onto the new world with the arrival of The Citadel. That choice was far removed from Lurk's claws. All he could really do, was decide how he would use his power to intervene. His mind drifted far and wide as his legs carried him nowhere in particular. The servants and guards of the palace sheltered from the rain and avoided his imposing presence as the Wyrmblood brooded.

Wandering the perimeter of the modest Kadusian palace, Lurk spotted Reese.

The Captain was huddled against the wind and rain in an alcove formed by two decorative columns holding up statues of old heroes. There was a periodic flash from the man's cupped hands. Getting closer, Lurk saw Reese was fiddling with a small medallion that would spark as he tried to catch the little cinders into a pipe packed tightly with dried tobacco.

Reese was aware of someone approaching, but was far too agitated with his faulty fire starter to care who.

At least until a draconic claw entered his field of view, inches from his nose. A small flame hovered above the burgundy hide of Lurk's palm. Warren glanced between the steady tongue of fire and Lurk's unreadable visage. Then back to the fire. Then back one more time, before he wordlessly brought his pipe towards the offered light and took a few short puffs to ignite his dried leaf.

Reese took a deep drought, letting the well-aged flavor roll through him. It eased his fraying nerves.

Lurk stepped off to Warren's side out of the drizzle and pulled out a black clove cigarette of his own. Setting it in his mouth took some fiddling because of his muzzle. Eventually he succeeded and lit the cigarette Back in YGGDRASIL, the bottomless pack was just cosmetic. One that was quickly discontinued due to censorship laws. The glowing ember on the end of the clove stick flared as he inhaled. Lurk let out the tentative puff through his nostrils. Shapes danced through the fragrant smoke.

The Wyrmblood felt a sharp pang of guilt as he indulged in the vice. It was far too pure not to take his time with. Free of chemical preservatives. Free of poison and nicotine and tar, the flavor was sublime beyond compare.

"Harmony would kill me if she saw this." Leaning against the stone, Lurk felt his back press into his armor. Pensively, he continued to roll the Death Lure in his left claw, resisting the urge to channel his inner Macbeth.

"My wife can't stand smoking. She always makes me go outside, so I rarely do it. Especially during winter." Reese spoke around the stem of his pipe.

"Back in my world. Well... Long story. Anyway, these were very bad for you. All the real plants were either extinct, or too expensive. So it was mostly just plastic, tar, and nicotine. I swore to Harmony that I would quit for her. Almost went back once or twice. Some habits never really die."

"Peculiar smell. Are they good?"

Without a word, Lurk handed Reese one of the little sticks. His cosmetic refilled automatically through magic after all. Reese lit the clove cigarette on the remaining cinders in his pipe and switched.

"Sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to say something that I hope doesn't offend."

"Speak your mind, Captain. We're just two men sharing a smoke right now."

"I didn't like you at first, King Lurk. Not after what happened to my Theresa." Reese was not an especially superstitious man, yet was acutely aware of the Blood Gem hanging from his belt.

Warren took a draw of clove smoke and continued.

"I still don't know if I do. Regardless, you have my gratitude. I'm not gonna lick your boots like some Orza noble might try to do. But I'm not blind. Nor will pretend to be a fool. Kadusia owes you a debt that can't easily be repaid. When the people hear about how your Queen saved ours with a magic spell, you'll have won them all over again. And by the accounts from my men, miss Lapua saved us from a serious threat. Again. You could ask almost anything of us, and most would jump at the chance. That makes me uncomfortable."

"It can be said that an extraordinary man in an extraordinary world is no better than an ordinary man in an ordinary world. Believe it or not, I do know what it's like to be helpless. To be insignificant in the face of strength unattainable in a hundred lifetimes. To be one among a billion, desperate for respite between the crushing numbers all around."

Warren's head spun trying to comprehend Lurk, and chalked it up to his alien nature.

"What kind of world was that?"

Rather than answer, Lurk took a deep inhale and held it, letting the pressure in his chest ripple outward through his limbs. He held up the Death Lure and thought that its malformed visage carried a grief. Sadness for the living. As most death seemed to convey.

"I really shouldn't keep bringing it up. I always hated those 'back in my day' sentiments. let me ask you a question instead, Mister Reese. What would you do to save your wife? Your daughter?"

"Anything," Warren grimaced, realizing that he may have just crossed a threshold. Made a pact with an otherworldly creature. However, his fears were unfounded.

Lurk simply nodded.

"Then we understand each other better than you may realize. The world is unkind to the powerless. And there is nothing, no length I would not go to in order to protect my wife." The Ancient Incarnate looked at the Kadusian. "If there's one thing I know about my Harmony, it's that she's too kind. So you don't have to worry, Captain Reese. Black Sky believes that friends and allies are better than enemies. We're not conquerors. We only make war on those who bring war to us."

Both men exhaled clove smoke in the silence that followed.

***BSL***

Later that day, Lurk met Lapua in the Cathedral just as he promised. Lurk had arrived early and burned the time by playing a few notes on the pipe organ. He was determined to relish every day as if it were his last in the new world.

"My Lord, I'm... Not interrupting, am I?" Lapua timidly slinked across the floor to where Lurk stood at the center of the cathedral nave.

"Good afternoon, Lapua. You're not interrupting at all." Lurk had left off his armor to give a more casual air. He smiled, noticing the extra polish on Lapua's Caliber Court attire.

"I beg your forgiveness, Holy Lord. I heard some of the music you were making. It drifted on the wind down the mountain. It was beautiful."

Though her sycophantic attitude was a little much to bear, Lurk never lost his patience. He was slowly coming to understand the devotion programmed into The Citadel. On one claw, it reassured him, knowing that they were loyal to a spiritual degree. On the other, he was discomforted at the blind nature of it.

Lurk could not go back in time and change their settings. The draconic man was most disturbed at the idea that he had taken away their free will. They did not get to choose their place or lives. A melancholy strain of thought drifted to Phage. All he could do, was be genuine with them. Be real for them. Lead them to the best of his abilities and in time perhaps, if given the choice, they would make it because they wanted to and not because they were compelled to.

"Your troops are well kept, and by your reports, relations with the Seekers and Kadusia is building quickly. Your actions bring honor to Black Sky."

"Thank you, Holy Lord. I am unworthy of such praise. It was by your effort and judgment that I was given this opportunity to be first among the Caliber Court sent out as a representative of Black Sky Legion. And I have done nothing but build upon the work Lady Harmony and your blessed lordship did with Queen Belgrave."

Lurk waved a dismissive claw.

"An opportunity too good to pass up. Regardless, you only wanted a chance to meditate with me, correct?"

Lapua clasped her four hands together in front of her and seemed weak at the knees, about to drop in supplication yet again.

"I know it's selfish to even ask for a moment of your time Holy Lord I merely wished to reflect on the Tetragrammaton in your presence it would be the greatest honor but I understand if you have more important matters to attend what am I saying of course you do please forgive this foolish servant of yours in her blasphemous monopolization of your-"

Unable to hold back, Lurk let out a hearty laugh. He raised both claws and gestured for the Neverborn to relax a bit.

"It's no trouble, Lapua. That's part of why I summoned the [Cathedral of Brass]. The top of our mountain was too perfect not to put one up here. Having a clear and organized mind is just as important for good health as cleaning the body. As a psion, I'm sure you've seen men close to breaking by their mental stress alone. Everyone in The Citadel is welcome here."

"Your wisdom is effervescent, Holy Lord. Where else to be closer to the Tetragrammaton than the high ground?"

"Just so." A warm chuckle slipped through Lurk's smile. "Which verse would you like to meditate on?" He gazed around at the cardinal directions.

To the north, focused on the mind. The Cerebral side of marksmanship.

To the south was the reflex, the snap reactions.

To the east, the relentlessness aggressive, full auto control.

To the west was the immovable. The sustained, bottomless magazine.

"North!" Lapua blurted, before covering her mouth with all four hands even though she did not use it to speak.

"North. Wind. The mind. The sword. Clarity. And accuracy. An excellent choice."

Immediately the Neverborn brightened back up, placing two hands on her heart while she hid her smile with the other pair.

"Holy Lord, if... If my fellow members of the Caliber Court perform their duties as well as you say I have mine, then would you entertain the suggestion of the shadow of the concept of the idea of perhaps maybe allowing your humble and unworthy servants to hold court in your Cathedral?"

Lapua quivered like a leaf, positively terrified of what reprimand he might dish out for the simple insolence of asking a question. All four of her chitinous hands worked the others, nearly rubbing herself raw as she fidgeted.

"If they succeed, then yes. But if they do not, then they shall still come to the Cathedral, but they will meditate on their own." He hoped by keeping his tone soft, his words would not seem harsh. Lurk had not considered failure, but hoped that if any of the Court did not succeed in the mission he had laid out to them, it would be through no fault of their own. Lapua's actions gave him confidence.

"Your generosity is only matched by your wisdom, High Lord."

Lurk and Lapua sat on the selected branch of the Cathedral floor. Lapua went into a lotus position with her many fingertips touching, her four arms crossed over her chest. Crossing his legs and laying Entropy across his knees, Lurk let the silence of the Cathedral settle on him like a shroud. Both the Wyrmblood and Neverborn let the cold focus of the northern hymns of the Cathedral fill their minds with accuracy.

"Nox, would you care to join us?" Lurk broke the quiet that settled in the hallowed space.

Wordlessly, the Guardian formed from Lurk's shadow in a cross-legged pose. Echo of Damnation spanned his knees just as Entropy sat on his Lord's own lap. Lurk closed his eyes and tried not to laugh.

Breathing in, counting to four, then exhaling, Lurk relaxed his body piece by piece. Step by step, the Wyrmblood king considered his actions like a Kata.

Kadusia was saved from an undead assault by someone with access to YGGDRASIL artifacts. The Queen was saved. Oxelan was willing to trade and share knowledge of the world. Casting Super Tier was possible and had been illuminating as well as exalting. Using Thermo-Antithesis had been nostalgic and informative. Playing with the Corsairs had been... Strangely fun and reverent at the same time. And The Citadel's position in the world was only growing stronger.

And yet there was still so much to do!

Harmony had done beautifully in her negotiations with King Wojak and Oxelan. He was certain that with the Leviathan, the Oxelan people would be won over. They were sailors and sea folk after all. And just as Reese had said, Black Sky was cemented in the minds of the Kadusians as benevolent allies.

_ What do these people trade? What can we profit on? What would benefit The Citadel without giving away our technological or magical edge?_

His worries and mental somersaults ranged far and wide in breadth and scale. He considered the massive material cost of setting up more Hellhammers, yet told himself that the Forgemother had such things well in hand. As each worry or nagging doubt or just pent up debris from living life as a real king came, he let go of each in turn.

More than anything, he needed to be at the top of his game. He had to be sharp, cunning, intelligent, and adaptive. And Lurk could do none of those things if his brain was tied up in knots so tight it would take a greatsword to hack through.

Fear. Doubt.

Lurk let it pass over and beyond, allowing the mental detritus drift far away into the placid sea of mind. The storm of thought and consideration melted into calm reflection. Then into stillness. A thousand worries tugged at Lurk's mind, and he let them drop away. He cut away the insecurity with certainty and sharpened his thoughts with the whetstone of surety. If he was to be measured by word and action, he considered what he had said to Reese before departing Kadusia.

True to Lurk's word, Black Sky would not start any war in the new world.

War, however, did not slumber. Its coils shifted, furnaces stirred, and hoofs pawed the ground in anticipation even as the smoke of undead pyres rose into the weeping sky.

***BSL***

**Author's Notes:**

Hello and welcome everyone! Welcome once again to the end of the chapter, gentle reader. I'm so glad to join you here. Unfortunately this chapter took a bit longer than expected due to ludicrous work-related... Ugh. I won't bore you with the details, let's just say it's difficult to find time to write around a full-time job.

Thank you to everyone for the magnificent feedback and comments recently! I can't express enough of how much every word means to me. Please don't be shy! I read everything, and it helps me find the drive to push this keyboard late into the night.

I hope you all join me for the next chapter soon! Escalation is at hand, and I can hear those familiar drums of war, rumbling in the distance.


	11. Silver Barons

Ten Gauge was first among the Caliber Court. The group had no formal ranking system amongst its members, but the Wendigo occupied the honorary head seat nevertheless. Important for breaking ties whenever court was held and motions passed. Before leaving, the Caliber Court had convened in perhaps their most important session. Whereupon it had been decided that Nitro unquestionably held the title of 'Most Posh', Ten Gauge was agreed to be the 'Most Dashing'.

The Wendigo dwelled on the honor of such a distinction as he at last set eyes on the final destination of his mission.

His wyvern team had taken a more circuitous route to the city, arriving well after Nitro had forged Black Sky's connection with Oxelan.

It was not enough to achieve their mission, it had to be executed to the maximum letter and spirit of intent. Orza was their ultimate goal, but Lurk's completionist attitude had made its way into Ten Gauge in the form of a systematic kind of practicality.

His team spent three weeks spent meandering the countryside as the air grew in its bitter chill while fast approaching the winter months. Every day was used to gather information, local currency, supplies, and of course, spreading word of the glorious name of Black Sky Legion.

Ten Gauge quickly caught the trail of the fleeing remnants of the Bandit King forced north through the efforts of Corsair and Flayer kill squads. There was great pleasure to be had in annihilating any bandits unfortunate enough to be caught by the Wendigo. It offered pretense for his actions and loosened tongues along the way. Folk accustomed to their autonomy took better to a new power when the strength of Black Sky Legion was demonstrated to their benefit rather than intimidation.

Far from the protection of the city-states, the settlements technically fell into Kadusia or Oxelan territory, and had to fend for themselves in most cases. With their armies away, local militia or wandering Seekers were the only thing keeping the torch lit for the more isolated pockets of life. An unruly mob of misfits and cutthroats, broken off into packs like wild dogs prowled the more lawless country. Free company and bandit groups regularly exploited isolated villages and sometimes whole towns. Even the more modest settlements were fortified against monsters rather than the wicked cleverness of their fellow man and were easily abused.

They arrived at Orza in the evening. In the fading light, the silver city gleamed.

Ten Gauge ordered a fly over, circling the fabled silver city to assess it before landing. There had been a lot of talk from the towns along the way, and the Wendigo was curious to see if Orza lived up to its reputation.

In the glittering bay, frost collected on the shore and massive icebreaker ships were moored at stone docks. Their mass and magnificent prows cut through the thick ice to keep the city open. Many were so massive that they were lashed to the outer jetties. When the deepest winter months set in and the roads became too treacherous, the icebreakers were a vital lifeline for trade. Although Orza took great pride in its naval power, the standing army was where their true strength resided.

South of the city, rolling hills turned into treacherous crags which led to the natural depression in the surrounding peaks. Snow capped mountains surrounded Orza while the city in turn girdled a large bay open to the ocean. Ancient watch keeps kept their crumbling vigil on the high mountain steppes. Only a few still had fires lit.

Orzan architecture leaned towards steep roofs with ceramic shingles and tall spires. The city had been planned, burnt down, and rebuilt several times to resist both fire and cold with wide streets and avoided flammable building materials. Storms of apocalyptic ferocity would ravage the city from over the northern mountains. After generations, the people had just learned to live with it. Being ever a tenacious sort, humans focused their efforts and managed to achieve life in some of the most inhospitable places.

Just like the other city states that survived the dangers of the continent, Orza had tall stone walls and numerous defensive fortifications. Every tower was festooned with mounted crossbows and larger weaponry as well. Three square keeps rose up even higher than the gleaming silver spires, topped by ballista whose construction was now lost to the Orzan people.

Although he respected the natural defensiveness of the city, Ten Gauge counted woefully few guards actually patrolling its walls.

Landing on the road from the eastern mountain pass, the Black Sky wyvern team dismounted to stretch cramped limbs. There was much discussion among the soldiers as their goal was at last in sight. Sharpshooters and Silver Knights pondered where the fighting would take place, curious about the strange layout of the city streets they had seen from the sky. The two Corsairs pitched in their expertise in close urban fighting. They all had some idea of what to expect, yet knew that the woes of the countryside were likely only the tip of the iceberg compared to Orza proper.

Ten Gauge moved ahead to announce their arrival to the city, and hopefully begin his mission. No one else was on the road at such a late hour, so Ten Gauge stood along before the eastern gatehouse. A quick enhancement meant his words were heard by everyone within several hundred feet.

"People of Orza, I am Ten Gauge of the Caliber Court, and representative of Black Sky Legion. I am here as an official envoy from The Citadel to foster a mutually beneficial relationship between us."

All that immediately happened was panic among the wall guards as two of the ballista on either side of the gatehouse swivelled to point his way. A heavy iron portcullis dropped into place with a clang.

Despite lacking an expressive face, the red pinpricks of his eyes shrunk and his jaw clicked in agitation. Clenching and unclenching his fist did help assuage the urge to draw his Hydra. The Wendigo held his massive riot shield in a stately pose. Though not too far to bring to bear. Just in case.

Minutes passed by in uncomfortable stillness. The sun dipped sleepily behind the city, casting its ruddy winter tiredness across the bay. Spires caught the fading light as the silhouette of Orza was bathed in setting red. Discipline kept the Wendigo staring intently at the closed gates, unstirred as the chill wind ruffled the fur adorning the collar of his coat. Finally, the portcullis raised just high enough for a rather portly gentleman to squeeze out. It was the greasy ease through which countless unearned coin had slipped between his fingers that the man exuded the unmistakable air of a tax collector. With all the charm his station could afford, the gatehouse supervisor trundled over to the waiting Black Sky soldier.

Many facial subtleties of humanoid races escaped the Wendigo. Language and tone was easy to understand, and Ten Gauge correlated them with the many expressions that mortals could produce. He had learned much in dealing with the country lords and simple folk who staked their honest lives on the sweat of their brows. An incident early on involving cattle accidentally eaten by the Greater Wyvern had taught Ten Gauge quite a lot.

If the man had any reservations about Ten Gauge's appearance, it did not show.

"You must move your creature, sir! It is blocking the main thoroughfare."

Out of every possible reaction that the Wendigo had expected, foot traffic obstruction was the last. Only after rapidly clicking his jaw, did Ten Gauge default to his mission.

"Do you represent the people of Orza?"

The Wendigo watched, completely baffled as the portly man wiped sweat from his neck from even the smallest amount of exertion.

"Only insofar as collecting the toll for using house Bellane's gate. You're going to want to take up official business with the Silver Council. Again, sir, my duties to the city require I ask you to move your..." The man peered around Ten Gauge. "... Dragon, I suppose."

"Where is a clear landing space within the city?"

"Public space is open domain, but you will incur a fee if you use it. And of course, requires the proper forms filed with the public offices with no less than three days of advance notice." Even the portly man's perfectly neutral face betrayed some hesitance at the prospect of dealing with these 'public offices'.

"Where is a clear landing space that can be used today?"

"Well, if you're that desperate, then perhaps one of the houses might be generous enough to extend a line of credit so you can use a space to conduct business. They will want interest on their credit line, of course. I can put word in with Belane, if you make it worthwhile." With a gesture Ten Gauge had learned in dealing with a particularly unsavory and quite dead group of mercenaries, the gate official indicated that a little coin could grease the way.

Ten Gauge was unprepared for the inscrutable unscrupulousness of a red-blooded beaurocrat. He was caught between admiration at the audacity and anger at the attempted extortion.

"Where is a clear landing space that can be used today, which does not require either money or a three day notice?"

"Foreign dignitary, right? Yes, you might ply the houses, see if one wants a favor owed, if you catch the gleam of my silver?"

***BSL***

In Orza, the rot went deep.

As far as governing law was concerned, Snowdrop did not exist. The smugglers, peddlers, and dealers of the drug who formed a loose collective around the market preferred to keep it that way. Frostbite and the Glares especially. They were by far the largest and most organized in the silver city, and more than once mounted bloody feuds through the streets over territory with the households beyond caring so long as their personal supplies continued to flow.

The small, woefully underfunded city guard tried valiantly to stamp out Snowdrop dens and destroy shipments whenever possible. Yet their jobs were next to impossible with so many household soldiers directly on either gang's payroll.

Ballard and Cedrick of the Glares were camped out on the rooftop of a cargo warehouse by the bay. The section of dockyard was ostensibly owned by House Lamosseau. Though it had not seen use in several months. Other Glares huddled underneath blankets and huddled around Firestone heaters. The two leaders watched as a wyvern covered in red armor landed and the foreigners dismounted. The whole affair was hard to miss because a magic caster among the group lit up the area with a [Flare]. Cedrick recognized the spell. The man was an avid collector of relics from the Meteor Fields.

"So, I know we were supposed to figure out why someone needed five bolt throwers in such a hurry. But what're those stupid household bastards doing?" Ballard spoke softly to his prone companion.

Word had travelled quickly through the unsavory elements of Orza given the nature of the sudden request for heavy weaponry transported discreetly to the warehouses. Cedrick and Ballard along with a strong group of Glares enforcers had been sent to make sure it was not Frostbite setting up something big.

"Look! Look there. You can see the point of a bolt sticking out between those crates. They aim to take out their dragon. You can tell by the barbs on it." Lifting his spyglass, Cedrick's mind whirled with the implications.

"At that kind of range? Well, there's no way they can miss. Especially with those throwers. Why are they so set on killin' these guys? What d'you think they gain?" Even without a glass, Ballard could easily make out details. Knights in polished armor. Lizard men with strange staves. Strangely dressed elves with wicked looking crossbows. Even as he looked, a golem unfolded and stood to its full height, easily three times that of a man.

"Dunno. I'm sure they've got valuable stuff, but you know they're not gonna make back what they spent to get those ballista relics in such a hurry. What is that giant? Who are these guys? I've never heard of a trained dragon. 'Specially not one decked out in armor."

"It's a wyvern." Ballard corrected, scratching the stubble under his jaw.

"What?"

"Common mistake. Dragons have four legs and wings. Wyverns have two legs and walk on their wings."

Cedrick lowered his spyglass and wordlessly stared at his partner with incredulous disdain. Realizing what he had said, Ballard could not look the other Glare in the eye.

"Who d'you think they're tryin' to get on their good side?" Ballard deflected.

"Not us. Not another house. And Ice Orcs don't do subtle. Not like this." Cedrick looked between the foreigners and the bolts poking between stacks of crates. He caught only a brief glimpse of one of the men waiting in ambush. Undoubtedly a household knight, yet his heraldry was either missing or obscured.

"You don't think... Heymon?" Cedrick ventured.

"No way. I know the Barons are all idots, but even they wouldn't be stupid enough to work with the Heymon? Right?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Ballard felt a pit drop into his stomach.

***BSL***

"Alright, those monsters are in position. I wasn't sure about attacking these Black Sky people. But now I see why the Heymon want them gone." Serlo ducked back behind the crates once more. He rubbed his lower back beneath the plate armor. The would-be slayers had gotten everything together in a hurry.

"Just another time where I was right and you were wrong." Gil muttered, keeping his voice low. They were hidden a far distance away, tucked between the old stone buildings of the quay. Gil's hands were shaking as he checked and rechecked the ballista, making sure the cord was drawn as far back as possible and the barbed bolt was trained squarely on the heart of the scaly beast on the other side of the docks.

The dragon slayer tools were old. Leftovers from a war between the dragons and everyone else. Centuries without conflict had caused the war to retreat into myth and legend. Trophies and tapestries commemorating heroes were relegated to museums or the more sentimental houses. Symbols from when Orza was not called Orza adorned the artifact. The techniques and materials to make more of the ballistas were lost just as the heroes of the old dragon war. As such, they were irreplaceable and were worth fortunes. Back in those days, precious metal from the Comet Fields had been forged into bolts, able to pierce any dragon's hide. There had to be a unanimous vote from the ruling Silver Barons to open the vaults where the stockpiles were stored.

Five of the antique weapons pointed at the entourage of Black Sky Legion.

Serlo glanced around to check if they were being listened in on.

"I still don't like doing anything that helps out those Heymon bastards. I've got a brother who's off fighting with the Coalition." He hissed the misgivings for the tenth time since they had gotten their orders.

"Some of us had to go fight. We have to keep up appearances for the Coalition. Ya don't have t'like it, Serlo. Just follow my orders. Baron Lamosseau wants to make sure that when the Heymon come, we're the ones they put in charge. Simple as that." Gil did not like it either, and had gotten as well regarded in house Lamosseau by never letting his distaste show.

"Look at the size 'o that dragon they brought. Did we bring enough ballistas?" Serlo's heart raced in worry that the angry behemoth would come for them if they failed to land a killing blow with the first volley.

"We just need to wait for the right opportunity. They're busy. Looks like they're unloading supplies." Gil patted the side of the ballista and kept his hand feather-light on the release. "These are the real deal. Even if we don't hit something vital, it'll be stuck on the ground and we can get off more shots."

As the two men spoke, men in gleaming armor and odd lizard folk called out weapons checks and took personal tallies of their ordinance. A strange statue that had been curled up in a tight ball unfolded slender limbs and stood, easily taller than three men put together.

"What about that giant they've got? I don't like the looks of that." Serlo remarked as the construct turned its wrists and retrieved the long blade from its back.

"It's slow. Watch. It's probably a golem for moving heavy things. Some magic casters use things like 'em. If it becomes a problem we can load another set of bolts." Gil pointedly ignored the smooth grace and large weaponry of the golem. "We've got a hundred armed men and some of the best magic casters in all of Orza. As soon as the ballistas fire, everyone else has crossbows and the casters will hit 'em with third tier magic. They won't know what happened."

"So let's take the fucking shot." Serlo's chest tightened in fear he would never get the chance to voice.

"Hold. Wait until we've got a clear shot at its neck. The others will fire when we do." Gil hissed, teeth on edge.

"Hey... Hey, hey, hey... That weird lookin' one is coming this way. Does he see us?"

Serlo pointed to the deer-skull man with the large shield heading straight towards them.

Tighter and tighter, Gil's hand constricted on the release of his ballista as Serlo backed away from their cover and raised his own crossbow.

"Shit... He's not stopping. Fire now!"

***BSL***

"I still think we should've bribed that Nothier guy. At least we wouldn't have ended up somewhere that stank like dead fish." The Sharpshooter tried not to breathe through his nose too much. He turned and helped one of his sisters dismount the Greater Wyvern.

"At least it was free." She responded.

"Yeah, I know we're not exactly swimming in the silver these Orzans are so obsessed with, but do we want them to think The Citadel is poor?" A Corsair chimed in as his partner tended to the group's Painlord.

All around, the Black Sky soldiers checked their gear and made ready to explore the city.

Ten Gauge clicked his jaw.

"Until we know what rules can be comfortably bent or broken, I'd rather not proactively tarnish Black Sky's reputation in this city. Remember, our charge is primarily good relations." The Wendigo consulted a small ledger of their travels and skimmed his own notes on priority objectives.

"The gate official recommended greasing our passage with a bit of coin. Wouldn't that have made a better impression?" The first Sharpshooter shifted uncomfortably as he fidgeted with a stripper clip.

"He also said that we might leverage political favor with one of the houses for free use of a space." Ten Gauge answered the concern. He was not bothered by the uncertainty of his troops. Human custom and manner always baffled the Wendigo. It just meant Ten Gauge felt all the more honored at being selected for such a challenging mission.

"Could we not have just landed outside the city, sir?" A Silver Knight respectfully asked, exasperated with the time they had spent bouncing through bureaucratic hoops. The soldiers were all on edge. Warehouse buildings crouched like old toads around them, giving the distinct impression of abandonment and neglect.

"Yes, we could have, but one does not tip over a Hellwasp nest gently. Our goal is information. We must convey our strength to tantalize the wolves among the sheep as well as appear ignorant. It also lets us know who's best at pretending to be friendly. The Lamosseau representative was the first one to not actively seek out a bribe, and I'm curious to see what kind of greeting they plan." Ten Gauge closed his ledger and walked out from underneath the canopy formed by the wyvern's leathery wings.

He panned his gaze around the warehouse quay and his paranoia tickled. A hush permeated the space. There was the faint murmur of the bay, of water and stone whispering. But no birds or animals. Two-legged or otherwise.

It was a heavy quiet.

"[Preysight]." Ten Gauge growled. The pinpricks of lights in the sockets of his skull blazed white. It was one of his favorite spells as few ever thought to put counters up against the non-traditional detection magic. So long as his targets were not undead, or a clever mage, he would see them.

Heartbeats and the creatures attached to them were highlighted to the Wendigo. Men appeared as pulsing flashes of red veins. Some were hidden inside the warehouses. A sizable group watched from atop a roof. But the largest collection of life clustered behind barricades of wooden crates that blended with numerous other stacks of old mercantile detritus.

"Typical humans. Always believing themselves to be the hunters." Ten Gauge scoffed.

Ten Gauge marched straight towards the men whose red veins stood out like ruddy beacons in the night.

That was when the ballistas fired.

The barbed steel ballista bolt whistled by Ten Gauge and was deflected by the [Projectile Protection] woven through the Relic armor the wyvern wore. A barrier was briefly visible as it was struck, rippling in a web of blue hexagons.

To protect his Legion, Lurk had dredged up old plans of his to arm and armor the Greater Wyverns which protected the eighth floor of The Citadel. The process of it had always seemed too much time investment for too little return. No raider had made it that far into the Black Sky guild home. With the ability to delegate the task, it was easy to simply order the large creatures outfitted to his exacting detail.

Faster than mortal eyes could follow, Ten Gauge lifted his shield and an automatic skill kicked in, forming a phantom copy of his shield in front of the other bolts. He swatted away the attack. Metal clangs echoed off the warehouses. The fur lining of his collar barely rustled. A flurry of smaller projectiles flew his way and were stopped by more of the Wendigo's Shield Lord abilities.

Eyes still blazing with [Preysight], he knew exactly where the attack had come from. A guttural growl escaped his throat, and if he had the gift of lips, they would have been curling in disgust.

"[Feast Of The Deep]." His free hand reached towards the group and clenched. A void opened like a trench. Roots covered in splintered bone fragments rose from the shadowy pool and lashed out. The spell was gross overkill. Men were pulled into a meat grinder of sorts. A tidal pool of druidic wrath. A few screams were cut short by wet tears as globs of wet meat wrapped in bits of cloth were scattered like party favors. In a brief celebration of violence, every man was torn to shreds while the ballista were smashed to pieces.

A warehouse front too close to the epicenter sagged as its foundation was eroded.

Turning on his heel, Ten Gauge marched back to his team. Along the way he glared at the men on the roof and cowering in one of the other warehouses. The second group took the chance and made their escape, scampering off into the alleyways of the city.

Silver Knights formed into a protective circle, their spears held ready. Sharpshooters scanned the quay through their irons. The Corsairs were flitting around in trails of fire. And the Painlord only appeared still as a statue, when in fact its magic staves were primed from its internal reserves.

The Wendigo was graced by his Holy Lord and creator with many skills and abilities, from Shield Lord to Doom Slayer. Ten Gauge's race had natural affinity for certain nature magic, and he was thankful for High Lord Lurk's gift of Thorn Mage. With his druidic levels, Ten Gauge could speak in most beast languages, and addressed the Greater Wyvern of his team first.

"Bohgra-kaz. Filia s'kar ro shulva." He said, instructing his wyvern to circle overhead and spot any more ambush points.

"M'duroh, Ten Gauge." The Greater Wyvern answered with a deferential nod before taking wing. Tightening the ring, the squad converged around their leader.

"Three knights in front. Three in back. Sharpshooters between them. Corsairs on lookout. Painlord, take the rear. Until stated otherwise, this is hostile territory." Ten Gauge tapped the polished wood of his Hydra's grip.

"Sir!" Came the chorus reply as the soldiers took their formation.

"Certainly the most eventful place we've been to so far." Grumbled a Demi-Claw. His trigger finger itched.

"At least we're not dealing with those country lords anymore." Answered a knight.

"I liked all the people bein' grateful. And the fresh air. Not like here. The cold is takin' the edge off, but you can still smell the fungus clinging to all the rot." Another Demi-Claw added as the squad moved out of the open towards the sight of Ten Gauge's opening salvo.

In a steak of emerald flame, one of the Corsairs flitted up onto the Painlord's shoulder.

"Heya big guy. Don't mind me." She swayed on her perch to match the giant's gait.

The Painlord made a wing gesture, missing the previous town they had been in where doves had roosted on him for a few days.

"You Painlords are weak for little critters, aren't ya?" The Corsair asked.

In its ponderous way, the Painlord made a circle around the top of its smooth, sweeping head.

"Don't worry big guy, I'll make you another flower crown when we get a chance, okay?" The Corsair crouched down to reduce her silhouette and patted her shoulder guard perch.

With a contented nod, the bipedal automaton slowed to stand behind its team.

The squad came to the darkened stain of splinters and bone left behind by the aftermath of [Feast Of The Deep].

"That was a real dirty trick they pulled. Inviting us in on friendly terms, then trying to cut our throats." A Silver Knight derided in the face of devastation. "I think Eighth Tier may have been a bit excessive for such scum, Lord Ten Gauge. Though an understandable reaction given the circumstances, sir."

"Ah, I suppose I should have left some alive for questioning." Ten Gauge gave a few thoughtful clicks as he considered how to rectify his zealous persecution of Black Sky's enemies.

Given the state of the corpses, Ten Gauge was uncertain if even the esteemable Lord Skitharix could piece something back together. Among the spilled entrails steaming in the cold there might have been a few usable pieces. Although missing the lower jaw and much of the scalp, there was a head that had managed to roll free of the carnage. The Wendigo picked up the morsel and looked into its one remaining eye.

"Though perhaps in death they might relinquish secrets." Ten Gauge opened his jaw wide enough to engulf the entire top of the head. Special glands under his broad tongue primed his mouth with a unique saliva. Acid melted through bone in seconds and let him take a generous bite of the man's brain. The rich grey fat dissolved in the Wendigo's hungry maw.

Fragments of memory came to Ten Gauge. Memory of a man named Serlo.

Flashes of coins being changed hands furtively. Smuggled goods and black market dealings. Foreign power was at work, undermining the foundations of Orza from many directions.

Snowdrop smoke. A disgusting euphoria brought on by the substance which clouded much of Serlo's brain. There was a man the flavor of sand, and a smell like an ice so bitter that Ten Gauge had to run his tongue over the roof of his mouth to cleanse it of the acrid tang. The first was indeed a man. A spy of the Heymon Empire. The other was... Something else. Something that Serlo regarded as more of an abstract. A concept that was buried under layers of narcotics.

In a moment, Ten Gauge understood life for the Orzans. At least from the perspective of Serlo of House Lamosseau.

Two things made up the lifeblood of any Orzan citizen. Silver. And Firestone. Summer for them was an aberration. A brief respite of the freezing temperatures that lasted for less than a quarter of the year. Firestone was a ubiquitous, and vital magic ore that provided warmth on the nights that could freeze a man's very blood if he stepped outside in the howling ice storms. And silver was the reason the silver city existed at all. There was no other place on the continent with richer deposits of metal. Precious and otherwise. Orzan iron was exported by the shipload. And Orzan silver made for over ninety percent of all silver in circulation among the city states.

Noble houses controlled the different mines. They controlled everything. A vestigial skeleton of public works existed for the city, underfunded and anemic of any real power. Ten Gauge had discussed the Silver Barons at length with Lapua. His courtly sister had given all the information she had gathered through the Seekers about Orza and its ruling council.

Being there, and consuming someone with direct insight on the matter gave Ten Gauge needed clarity on just what he would be dealing with. Black Sky Legion had not been players on the continental stage for long, and already there were factions out for blood. Self-styled hunters seeking prey. The city of Orza itself was going to test Ten Gauge and his men.

And he relished the challenge.

Sending a silent prayer of thanks to his Holy High King for gifting him such a task, he turned back around and addressed his waiting soldiers.

"We march for a place we can make a claim of parlay. One of the courthouses in this district will suffice. Once we've made our claim, the Silver Barons will be forced to put us under their protection. The enemies we face are going to do their best to stop us."

Ten Gauge met each expectant soldier's gaze.

"And they're going to fail."

With his new knowledge, Ten Gauge set off to invoke an ancient right laid as deep as the strongest foundations in the city. One of the old laws that the Silver Barons were still beholden to required them to meet anyone who called Orza to parlay. His troops followed him into certain conflict without a backward glance. Orza squatted low, its forgotten slums muffling the sound of water as they pressed into its crusted alleys. The streets were even older than the city. Often times in the past, only the scorched cobblestone would remain after particularly fierce dragon attacks.

It only took two streets and a bend before the jaws of the next trap snapped shut. But Ten Gauge's squad was ready.

"Contact. House to our left. Crossbow in the window pointing our way." A Demi-Claw placed her irons on target. "Taking the shot."

With one easy bullet, the Sharpshooter popped the man's head and anarchy broke loose in the street.

Men boiled from the nearby houses and from hidden side streets faster than the Demi-Claws could work their bolts. Windows were smashed and arrows were flung down in thickets. A few magic casters threw fire and lightning.

And from every pair of lips came a single cry.

"For the Bandit King!"

"Not these assholes again." One of the Silver Knights complained as he stabbed a man in the heart, having been at the battle in front of Kadusia's walls.

Even though he stood in front, Ten Gauge at first simply held his ground. The humans could not get within reach of him through the Shield Lord's wards. Every one that stayed and tried made themselves an easy target and were gunned down. The howling bandits held a peculiar quality to them. Most fell by rifle round or spear thrust. Yet some kept on despite suffering grievous wounds, seemingly immune to pain or fear. Enough unnatural vigor allowed them to smash their weapons against Black Sky shields. And that was as far as it got them.

Once satisfied that he had taken the measure of them, the Wendigo at last drew one of his weapons.

Lurk had spent quite a bit of time experimenting with gunslinger and pistoleer classes. One of his forays was indeed combining Shield Lord with a firearm discipline. The weakness being that Ten Gauge's shotgun was only effective at extremely close ranges. Point distribution made closing the distance to more agile ranged classes annoyingly difficult. What was the point of using a gun if a bow user could kite a Shield Lord to death? After Lurk had his fun with Shield Lord and Doom Slayer, the mantle and ensemble had fallen onto the first of his Caliber Court.

Among Ten Gauge's inheritance was one of Lurk's favorite backup sidearms that he could no longer use with his chosen classes.

A Grisha pattern hand cannon. Grisha's trademark were elegant magnum weapons with inclination towards wood furnishing and engraved steel. Nitro's magnum rifle was also a Grisha.

Short recoil, semi-automatic, with an internal magazine of forty rounds that was refilled by stripper clip, the Grisha was more of a precision weapon. A long barrel gave it excellent muzzle velocity. It required an inordinate amount of strength and specialization to wield effectively because of the weight and power of firing it with one hand. Though slow, it let Ten Gauge put pressure on opponents at long range where his Hydra could not reach.

Demi-Claw Ninety-Nines made holes in that they punched through armor and man and left entry and exit wounds. They would occasionally cleave a skull into parts or take off a limb. Ten Gauge's Grisha exploded torsos. Mere human physiology, even amongst the attackers that had garnered levels throughout their lives stood no chance before the weapon. One shot was enough to reduce a man-sized target into bloody giblets.

Entirely unconcerned with the paltry enemies, Ten Gauge meandered forward, putting down anything that moved. Such opponents were nothing more than a distraction to the Wendigo. He barely spared each target a passing glance, looking for any real threat. Putting single rounds into torsos, nothing any of the humans wore could hope to stop the rounds. A few lieutenants among the ambushers had protective charms or spells floating about their person, and every one fell just the same.

One woman held out her amulet smuggled from the Meteor Fields. The Grisha round deflected off to one side and the amulet began to glow with heat. She screamed as it ate into the flesh of her hand yet would not relinquish her hold on it. So Ten Gauge just shot her a second time, shattering her head into wet chunks and the amulet into pieces.

Things seemed well under control.

***BSL***

"Now, now, now you idiot! There's not gonna be a better chance than this." Ballard popped a small Snowdrop crystal into his mouth and chewed. In such a pure form, the drug acted as a combat booster. Veins popped out of Ballard's neck and arms as he urged the Glares forward.

Cedrick did not like it. Did not like chasing a crazed deer-headed mage. Did not like how many bandits he was watching be cut to ribbons. Did not like how his fingers trembled around the hilt of his sword. But he had no choice in the matter. His boss, the leader of the Glares had made it clear that Cedrick and Ballard would come back with either the house knights heads, something from these rich newcomers, or not come back at all.

Cedrick rationalized what he had seen by convincing himself that the power came from items in the possession of the Black Sky people. It had to be things from the Meteor Fields. There was no way a caster could do anything like what had ripped apart the household knights. No mage alive could use such spells in that age.

"Run around that big golem and get 'em in the back!" Ballard felt the cold in his limbs replaced by the Snowdrop's telltale icy burn. It was hot and freezing all at once as his skin began to sizzle with energy. The numbness spread quickly into his jaw, so the man did not realize that a sickening grin stretched from ear to ear. While the fools were all busy killing each other, the Glares would come out on top again.

Even with the fancy armored men, reptilian spellcasters, and weird deer-man distracted, Cedrick hung back.

Glare cutthroats ran ahead at full sprint. Each of them had taken a fair hit of Snowdrop. Enough to no longer feel pain and strike with the strength of three men. They would close the distance and plant their daggers into backs and necks. That was the plan.

Then the sluggish looking golem turned with far too much speed and with a wave of its hand, ripped the very life from the leading glares. Even with ice pumping in his veins, Ballard retained enough sense to turn and run, even if it was only to find another angle of attack. Other Glares fired their crossbows at the golem, and were deflected by a magic barrier around the construct.

Gesturing for the survivors to hurry, Cedrick watched red orbs coalesce around the golem's hand. Lightning, red as a dragon sunrise spilled from mechanical fingers.

Ballard's last look of panic and fear was seared into Cedrick's vision as the other glare popped like a blood blister. Hot fluid splashed across his face. He flinched as his nose filled with copper and thickly ionized air. Cedrick ducked into a side alley and tried to control his racing heat.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit. By all the old gods what just happened? What in hell's unholy bowels are these fuckers? They're demons. I've never seen anything like this." He slid down the stone wall of the alley and rummaged through his pockets. Viscera splashed nearby as another one of his men was wetly smeared across the street.

"Gotta use it. Gotta." Cedrick told no one but himself.

He grimaced. Just looking at it made his skin crawl. A fleshy orb, purple and blue like a bruise, covered in animated tendrils. The single item was more valuable than he was. It was a one-time use. From the Meteor Fields. Stolen and smuggled and passed down through years. It was a final failsafe. Only to be used in the most dire emergencies. The Glares had obtained a significant amount of dangerous relics from an old collector with more wealth than sense as collateral for the aging man's Snowdrop addiction.

Cedrick gave the repulsive sphere a firm squeeze and brought forth a Shoggoth.

The Eldritch Abomination was not summoned, so much as reality boiled until congealing into a roiling mass of flesh, teeth, and eyes. Its bulk spilled along the street, cracking century old stone beneath its ponderous mass. In a vile tide of mouths and tentacles, it flowed up the nearby buildings. It moved with speed, shooting out growths in the form of amorphous barbed tentacles.

Its unfortunate summoner was the first casualty.

Death came for Cedrick as he was impaled through the head before being sucked into the mass with a wet crunch.

***BSL***

An [Aura of the Unnatural] paralyzed the weakest among the humans, Snowdrop or not. The Shoggoth plucked the stationary prey and consumed them to fuel its genesis. Eyes and mouths opened to identify and consume as needed, melting in an out of the body.

Mere humans were not the only ones to meet this new threat.

The Painlord raised both its arms and triggered the staves there. [Napalm] sheeted against quivering mounds of flesh, yet could find no catch. The Shoggoth lashed out at the Painlord, forcing the construct to step back and respond with its sword. With the blade, the Painlord carved away hunks of the beast, yet the gelatinous mass was unfazed. Fire alone could not burn away the infection of reality. The Painlord could not use any of its more powerful reality bending attacks for its enemy was immune to such tricks. Madness did not affect creatures born from such.

Shattering nearby windows with a roar, the Shoggoth lifted a wave of its mass and smashed the Painlord away. The construct was boxed in by the buildings and was slammed through the nearest block of houses. Brick and insulation that had stood the test of time crumbled. Worn down, the houses had survived the ancient dragon wars. And were reduced to rubble. Most houses in the slums were abandoned.

In a second, the Shoggoth advanced on the other Black Sky soldiers.

Even the Sharpshooters would have run if not for the buffering presence of their Silver Knight comrades. As it was, the Living Armor clustered in front of their scaly brothers and sisters. The Legion steeled itself together, and discipline let them fall back on their training in such situations. Even without the Hellhammers, the warriors from the Alpha and Omega bunkers of The Citadel were not defenseless. Even against enemies far above their own levels.

Sharpshooters used the explosives they had offloaded from the wyvern, ripping off safety cords and heaving satchel charges into their foe. Detonations shook the gelatinous Shoggoth mass. Windows and storefronts were pulverized by the blasts. Stone shrapnel clanged off the shieldwall of the Silver Knights. Moaning in displeasure, the Shoggoth surged forward. Which meant it ran straight into the second salvo of charges. Ichor spewed from the grasping tentacles severed by the charges. Razorwire bombs went off next, filling the street with spools of snares that caught on the Shoggoth's hideous rolls of flesh.

The two Corsairs on the roofs of the intact houses focused their fire on every eye that manifested. Poison resistance kept the Shoggoth from dying instantly to the Ash bloom toxin, but did not negate all the damage. Necrotized holes were gouged into the beast.

With the beast distracted, the Painlord sprinted out of the crumbling buildings and drove its sword deep into the Shoggoth's center mass. With grace befitting a gymnast, the construct flipped back out of reach from the return blow. [Blood Lightning] lanced forth. Bolts cracked into the Shoggoth, rupturing hide and paralyzing its mass. Crimson orbs evaporated quickly as the blade served as a conducting rod into the abomination. But the Shoggoth would not be cowed so easily. As soon as the Painlord ran out of charges, its enemy expelled the sword lodged within and howled with dozens of mouths. The two giants traded blows with alarming speed. The Shoggoth battered and pulled while the Painlord ripped and punched.

Alone, the Painlord would not have emerged victorious. The battle would have been one of attrition, and even though its hand-crafted armor would have held for a long time, the Painlord would have run out of mana and spells.

No one of Black Sky Legion fought alone.

Ten Gauge dumped the remaining magazine of his pistol into the Shoggoth, blowing man sized-holes into a church-sized beast. The Painlord used the reprieve, retrieved its sword and assaulted from a distance with [Tormentor Shackles]. Hot red runes appeared and were branded into flesh which sizzled. In reality, the Shoggoth was subject to pain.

The Wendigo holstered his Grisha pistol and wielded his Hydra once again. And he advanced.

Although it was an affront to nature, mortal minds, and resistant to magic, the Shoggoth was still a physical creature. Therefore, was vulnerable to physical force.

Boomboomboom!

The Hydra voiced its throaty bellow. Three hammers fell in such short succession that the shells went off in a single conjoined sound. Vines extended from Ten Gauge's wrist, cracking open the Hydra and loading fresh shells. Doom Slayers were focused on raw killing power. Chunks of Shoggoth were blown into organic soup that sizzled. The Shoggoth shrieked as it tried to escape Ten Gauge's reach. Every human still in the area began to bleeding from their ears due to the abomination's scream.

His next volley opened a huge cavity in the mass of the Shoggoth that disrupted the creature as its remaining volume rushed back to plug the gap. Ten Gauge's Hydra would be salvation for the cosmic horror. He prayed to his Holy Lord, giving thanks for the gift of life, of his body and mind and force of arms. The Wendigo voiced his worship as he walked forward, each shell an offering for his sermon of rebuke.

Shoggoths were creatures gifted with a disturbing amount of intelligence for something so beastly. It had to retreat, gather its strength and regenerate lost mass. Needle bites from the lizards and elves kept it bleeding, while the hurting-machine did not relent. Through all of the projectiles thrown its way, the horned mage was the real threat. If the Shoggoth could get enough room, it could slink away into the wilderness and recover.

In a voice made of slapping skin and wet meat holes exhaling, the Shoggoth used its magic to distort the rubble of the street into a wall between it and the attackers. Turning, the eldritch abomination found its retreat blocked by a wall of thorned wood summoned just as quickly.

A hunter would not be denied his prey.

Twisting trunks burst through the summoned stone wall and split the barrier for Ten gauge to continue his implacable march.

Cursing the horned mage in a hundred different languages, the Shoggoth attacked. In a last desperate counter, the abomination used more of its precious mana to transform one of its rolls of flesh into a reality eating substance. Skin peeled away to reveal a starless sky that would dissolve apart any physical matter before a pocket of space that was antithetical to the natural order.

This tide rushed towards Ten Gauge like a tsunami. He raised his shield, and bashed the attack away.

Others might have given that moment to taunt the creature. Monologue on the inevitability of the conflict. But Ten Gauge was on business from his High King, and would brook no interference. The Doom Slayer took the Shoggoth apart with quick shots and efficient reloads. He targeted the largest concentrations of its body, reducing it down and down. The monster's back was pressed into the thorns, scrabbling to climb the bramble wall to escape. Screams turned to pleas. Pleas turned to whimpers.

Until finally, one more burst of buckshot caused the summoned creature to lose all cohesion. A slurry of gelatinous liquid splashed against the wall of thorns on one side, and stone on the other. The liquid had an oily sheen as it shimmered and evaporated, unable to remain in the world. One last quivering lump of Shoggoth still twitched, a tiny eye bulging from the tumor. Ten Gauge stomped on the lump. Beneath his heel, the Shoggoth at last died with not a roar, but a wet pop.

Although he was not generally given over to emotional responses, Ten Gauge gave the blister an extra twist to make sure it was nothing but pulp. He holstered his Hydra and dismissed his thorns with a flick.

"Sound off, who's not dead?" Ten Gauge called to his troops as he returned to them. The Painlord bowed its head to the Wendigo and signed that it was fully functional.

"Silver Knights, aye. Some scratches. Nothing that won't buff out."

"We've got some injuries over here, Sir Ten Gauge." A Sharpshooter wiped blood from a cut on his brow with one claw and saluted with the other.

The two Corsairs manifested, supporting each other. One Plague Elf had taken a barbed tentacle to the leg, but was still hobbling along.

"Just a scratch, help the Demis first, sir." The Corsair took a seat on a hunk of rubble with a pained sigh.

Most druid classes came part and parcel with healing spells and Ten Gauge was no exception. His hands glowed with emerald light that knit wounds back together. Soon everyone on his squad was back to combat readiness.

"Sir, your orders?" Asked a Silver Knight.

"If there are innocents, save them from the rubble. If there are survivors of the attack, detain them for questioning."

"Yes, sir." The Living Armor saluted.

Ten Gauge assessed the destruction.

Patiently, the Wendigo waited for any kind of response from the city while his squad were set to task. In the days spent traversing the countryside and stopping by villages and towns, he had quickly learned that some kind of organized authority group would meet and discuss his actions. He had accidentally stolen some cattle and been delayed a day by repaying that accidental misunderstanding.

He would have thought in the vaunted capital of Orza that there would have been an army bearing down after all the ruckus.

Looking around, he noted the many boarded up shops. Watchmakers. Jewelers. Signs of wealth and prosperity, now run down and overtaken by the slums. Up close, the silver spires that marked the Orzan architecture appeared tarnished, if not defaced. The lights of the gleaming city were distant, hazy things. Isolated from the coming winter nights.

Eventually, there was someone who looked official. Much like everything else Ten Gauge had seen, it was only a surface appearance. In actuality it was a man with a crooked back directing a cart pulled by an old mule. Two others in threadbare Orza livery hung off the side, collecting body parts.

"Do you represent Orza?" Ten Gauge asked the leathery Orzan.

"No, sir, just the cart man." The driver looked up from his reigns. "Well you're a strange looking fella. Look like a lord with that outfit, but I can't say I've ever seen a deer skeleton head... Man."

"Are you a part of or affiliated with the household knights?" The Wendigo clicked his jaw as he drew on the information he had gleaned from his cerebral meal earlier.

"Ha! Household knights? Down 'ere? The only reason a household knight would come down here to the gutters is t'buy Snowdrop. But that's what their servants are for. The city guard is supposed to police this area, but they've turned a blind eye for years. Either bribed to stay away, or smart enough to know not to fight the dealers. You learn, or you wind up drowned in a shallow puddle if ye catch the gleam o' my silver." The cart man gave a wry grin which was missing surprisingly few teeth. He gestured to their surroundings as his helpers carried on piling pieces into the corpse wagon. Large and small. Man or woman. Bandit and Glare alike.

"I think I'm starting to understand Orza a bit more." Ten Gauge clicked thoughtfully to himself before flicking a coin at the cart man. It was the first bribe of many. And the first the Wendigo believed would be worth its cost.

After inspecting the coin and its elegantly wrought tree, the man pocketed it without a second thought.

"I'm just the cart man. Clean up. Don't ask questions. It's thankless, but it pays because no one else wants it. As long as I can afford enough wood, food, and Firestone to make it through the winter, that's all that matters."

"For just a cart man, you know an awful lot." Ten gauge spun more coins in his fingers.

"Aye, lord. No one pays attention to the cook. Or the servant. Or the slave. Or the cart man."

More hunks of former person thumped into the cart while the two spoke.

***BSL***

An eventful night was followed by a laborious day as Ten Gauge made preparations for his monarch's arrival. Hours spent hemming and hawing through the ludicrous Orzan legal processes. Black Sky Legion's claim of parlay went a long way. The city was slow to react to disturbances, but once roused, swarmed with rumors on what occured at the docks and the slums. Stories circulated, more extravagant with each telling. The more outlandish they became, the closer the tales became closer to the truth.

Of course it was rather difficult to miss the armored wyvern moving from courthouse to courthouse towards the wealthier districts of the city.

Ten Gauge was honored to spend significant time in direct communion with both his High King and Lord Nox as the three discussed what the Caliber Court member had learned. In Kadusia, they had come to the city as saviors. Nitro's forward personality paved the way for Black Sky in Oxelan. Now in Orza, there were different diplomatic hurdles at play. And foreign authority seeking to either interfere or eliminate Black Sky Legion.

No normal entrance or introduction would do. Others would be watching, and it was agreed that a show of strength was warranted.

The center of the Orza was a large plaza. A central point from which the major roads of the city radiated like the spokes of a wheel. Having been burnt to the ground and built up again over and over, Orza had taken shape around what survived. A perfect place for the planned arrival. One street of the wheel was wider than all the rest, and terminated in the grand council hall. Ten Gauge and his squad waited there, and the city congregated. A few of the major houses had sent groups of household knights to ensure the bargain of parlay was kept. They waited behind the Black Sky soldiers.

Well dressed nobles from minor houses and their attending guards lined the main thoroughfare while more common folk crowded the small streets. Just like Kadusia, everyone was curious to see just who and what was Black Sky Legion.

Wingbeats were heard. Ten Gauge and his squad knelt.

Fingers pointed upward. Tentative calls of wonder turned to cries of fear as death came to land. Tattered membranes stretched between ancient bones. A true dragon, the likes of which had not been seen for centuries, and one of titanic proportions. Primal fear of the undead gripped the populace as Novus landed. His bulk caused the ground to tremble as his back claws touched the ground and his front came thudding down before the Legion away team. Unrest roiled through the people. Many ran or cowered. Many more stood petrified and watched with morbid fascination.

Novus took a deep breath and sighed as he folded his wings. Even with his natural toxic miasma contained within his breast, a lingering mist spilled from his scales. Wheezing an athsmatic cough, his voice carried through the city.

"Attention, human people of..." Novus looked down to the still kneeling Wendigo. "What was this place, mister Ten Gauge?"

"Orza, Lord Novus." Ten Gauge replied.

"Thank you... Human people of Orza, bow before the High Lord and Lady of The Citadel. Masters of Black... Sky... Legion."

Scaled meteors plummeted from the sky and arrested their fall just before crashing into the street. Lurk and Harmony were two halves of a single being in that moment. They had flown enough together to alight in unison. They had soared together in a hundred games and a million dreams. They needed no fancy signals to both slow their descent at the same time and land in a few heavy wingbeats.

The monarchs had agreed that shock and awe on their end would allow their troops to operate with impunity.

Each of them had picked large weapons.

For Lurk it was his Dreadspear. Part glaive, part belt-fed heavy automatic, and all Stormgold, the weapon was dark like a cloudy thunderhead that glittered around the edges with an auric sheen. Lurk held the long weapon upright as he walked, tamping the butt against the stone street in time with his steps. Linked rounds clinked together near the rear receiver.

Harmony in turn had chosen one of her show pieces to match her husband.

The two-handed axe was unnecessarily large. Its single edge was interrupted by a grip midway up the blade to pivot and turn the weapon better. It was not for battle, it was a ceremonial blade of the god of executioners. Kurze was the patron of all axemen after all. And by wearing his pendant, Harmony could wield such ludicrously oversized blades without agility penalties. She rested the axe on her shoulder.

Stormgold had been another event material, from the Midas' Rain celebration. Although it was supposed to be a generous event, the loot of real value was deceptively elusive. Most of the items were gaudy trash, and getting the good stuff required either a disproportionate amount of work, or purchase through the cash shop. Stormgold was the most aesthetic to the couple, and they had justified the purchase only after sinking dozens of hours into its fruitless pursuit. On the last day, no less.

The bulky weapons made holding hands rather difficult, so Harmony reached out with her tail and snagged the end of her husband's extra limb. The tips of their tails locked together. And together they sauntered down the street with Novus and Ten Gauge picking up the rear after their ruler's passage. Some of the household knights forgot themselves and

"We get to play king and queen again my love, aren't you excited?" Harmony gave Lurk's tail a squeeze.

Lurk chuckled.

"It's not play if you really are. You don't need to pretend to be a queen my darling dearest dragoness, you were always royalty to me."

"Stop it! You're making me blush." The Scarlet Drake giggled.

"Do we have any crowns? I bet you would look great in a crown. Mmm, maybe a crown and nothing else? That'd be nice." Lurk daydreamed at the thought.

Harmony laughed more and gave another squeeze.

"Didn't some drop from this event?" She asked, patting her axe. "Or did we scrap all of them for material? I'm sure we could make some if there's none in the treasury."

"Can some spawn out of those pop chests? I don't remember."

"It would be funny if they did. But it's just gold." Harmony lamented.

Looking casually around, Lurk took the measure of the people he saw. He also looked up at the minute flash of Flayer knives among the shadows of the rooftops along the street. As the two monarchs made their way, Painlords stepped from portals at regular intervals and held their weapons out in honor of their rulers. If there were conspirators or assassins watching, they would have to go through many layers to reach either Lurk or Harmony.

The household knights parted to either side of the grand council entrance. As soon as Lurk and Harmony were beyond the threshold, Novus turned his bulk and sat on his haunches, completely blocking the doors with his tail and backside.

"Ten Gauge..." Said Novus with a yawn.

"Yes, Lord Novus?" The Wendigo answered, his squad having followed on the Dracolich's heels, forming a ring of spear points and bayonets after their High King and Queen's passage.

"Find me... An old goat. Maybe two."

"My Lord, are you not a true undead? Do you need to eat?"

"Mm... No. But I would like something to chew on." Novus smacked his chops, wishing for something between his teeth.

Inside the council hall, the rulers of Orza, the Silver Barons had all gathered. They sat in a raised semi-circle of seats beneath a glittering frescoed dome. Personal Firestone amulets glowed on the Baron's person. It was a showing of wealth in addition to the silver filigree in the noble's voluminous cloaks.

"The city of Orza gives welcome to Black Sky Legion. House Vellot answers the call to parlay." Began the central man. Baron Vellot held the head seat, and watched Lurk and Harmony as closely as he did the other Silver Barons.

"House Nothier answers the call to parlay." An older woman wearing extravagant makeup spoke.

"House Bellane answers the call to parlay." The youngest of the bunch, he was staring intently at the glittering weapons of the Black Sky rulers.

"House Choistel answers the call to parlay." A portly fellow, Baron Choistel was slightly drunk on wine at the time.

"House Lamosseau answers the call to parlay." Baron Lamosseau used to be a handsome man. Before premature aging had carved wrinkles into his clenching jaw and turned much of his hair gray.

"Thank you for your welcome, Barons." Harmony began. "I am Queen Harmony, and this is my husband, High King Lurk. We are Black Sky Legion." She gave her axe a twirl and planted the end of her weapon on the floor to rest one hand on the pommel. With her strength, Harmony kept the Barons off balance.

"Queen... Uh... Queen Harmony, of Black Sky... May I ask that you move your..." Baron Vellot's eyes nearly crossed in consternation as he tried to find a word that was not 'monster'. He gestured in the vague direction of the undead dragon preventing the household knights from entering the council hall.

"Is Novus in the way?" Harmony turned and tapped a finger against her lips. "I suppose he is, isn't he?" She looked around for a moment, before pointing and gesturing at the Baron Bellane.

A Flayer emerged from the shadow of the Baron. With an effeminate shriek, the man tumbled out of his chair at the proximity of the hunched abomination. Sliding along in near silence, only the whisper of its skin robes was audible aside from its mechanical clicking. Its appearance had the rest of the Silver Barons shuffling uncomfortably and checking behind themselves.

Skulking over, the Flayer clasped its metal hands in supplication, ready to receive its Fair Lady's command.

"Be a dear, and go tell Novus to move out of the way of the door. That way everyone else can come in. But first, go get me something to drink, please. Since we haven't been offered anything. Something fruity, I think. Lemonade if they have it, or just something with citrus and honey."

"That sounds lovely. Get some for me too, please." Lurk added.

The Flayer nodded enthusiastically and then phased through a wall to head outside.

While the rest of the Silver Barons gawped, Vellot recovered enough composure to carry on.

"By the rules of parlay, it is customary that those who invoke it make their offer first. Black Sky, what do you have to offer the city of Orza?"

Ten Gauge had provided vital intelligence into Orza despite having been there for less than a day. The Silver Barons respected one thing above all.

Harmony merely smiled and pulled up a vestige of YGGDRASIL when it existed as a game world. The menu hovered before her free hand and a quick selection summoned forth an old pop chest. Only a little smaller than a luggage trunk, the chest thunked to the floor. She tapped the top with the flat of her axe and it popped open. The pop chest contained between roughly three and four hundred thousand world tree minted coins. A pitiable amount to any max level player, yet enough to make the center of the council chamber into a swimming pool of gold.

More of the gold party favors cluttered Harmony's inventory because they took so long to open. She had never sat down and gone through all of them. A player could only open one at a time, and had to wait until the entire animation was finished before collecting the contents. A fun way to pass the time while waiting on bids at the old auction house, but not much more.

"I can assure you that favorable relations with Black Sky Legion means profit and prosperity for everyone. If Orza is capable of it, of course." Harmony spoke over the incessant clinking.

"Well of course we are!" Vellot insisted. The other Barons nodded fervently. Even Lamosseau's mouth hung open.

"Well, this was meant to be a gift for your hospitality towards Ten Gauge..." Harmony trailed off, having waited until the pop chest finished spewing forth riches. The Barons all leaned forward hungrily. Then the coins funnelled into an open rift beside Harmony. In a few seconds everything had disappeared into her inventory, leaving nothing but watering mouths and disappointment.

Harmony had guessed exactly what kind of men the Silver Barons were. And it provoked exactly the reaction she was looking for.

"This is an outrage! They destroyed valuable property at my warehouse. At the very least I should receive enough gold to cover the expenses." Baron Lamosseau forgot himself in his emotional outburst. Greed filled his eyes and made his mouth water more than Ten Gauge's had when eating Serlo's brain. If Lamosseau had known the fate of his bannerman, he might not have been so eager.

"Lamosseau! You will be quiet until it is your turn to speak." Vellot admonished the man. Their city was built on a fragile peace between the houses. Blood feuds had sprung from that very chamber more than once.

"Oh, is that where those men tried to shoot one of our wyverns with ballistas? After being offered to land there?" Lurk spoke up as he idly cycled the belt feed of his Dreadspear.

"My household knights were in pursuit of criminals. I've reprimanded the man responsible for offering the warehouse for free use." Lamosseau nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to backpedal.

"Oh, so you're not complicit, you're just incompetent." Lurk jabbed.

"You're man is responsible for those damages. So Black Sky should be held accountable for payment." Again, Baron Lamosseau let desire overrule his reason.

Harmony cleanly built upon Lurk's supposition.

"I thought criminal elements were responsible for the attack? Unless of course your household knights were the ones with the ballistas trying to kill our wyvern? Which not only would mean that you were responsible for the damage, but that you have declared war on Black Sky Legion on behalf of Orza."

She turned to Baron Vellot.

"Is that it? Is Orza declaring war on us?" The Scalebound leaning on her executioner axe asked innocently.

Baron Vellot spread his arms to encompass the room.

"No, no, of course not, Queen Harmony. Orza is deeply sorry for the failings of our city watch. That district was under public protection. A common tactic criminals use these days is to cause a large commotion to cover up their real agenda, if you catch the gleam of my silver. There was a large fire in another part of the city, likely the cause will have been arson to keep the watch busy while your people were ambushed."

The Baron smoothly passed the blame onto the underpaid and underpowered public servants that the Silver Barons collectively supported as part of old peace treaties.

"So it was not any of the house's responsibility for patrolling those streets. Am I understanding that correctly?"

"Precisely, Queen Harmony." Baron Vellot nodded.

"It seems like you have a slight problem policing your city. We would be more than happy to task Ten Gauge with hunting down those responsible for the attacks if your city watch is not up to the task-" Harmony began to offer before being cut off.

"I will not stand by while some pretentious lizardmen inbred tramples on Orza's name!" Lamosseau slammed his fists against the desk he sat behind.

Harmony made sure her annoyance was felt in a noticeable increase in temperature within the council hall. Choistel visibly broke out into a sweat and Bellane removed his Firestone amulet to keep from overheating.

"Are we going to keep getting interrupted? Because the other cities have been much more welcoming. Who I am sure would be more than happy to receive your share of trade as part of our alliance." Harmony moved her grip to the handle of her axe.

Baron Vellot was nearly red-faced with rage.

"Baron Lamosseau, one more outburst and I am ejecting you from this hall, dragon or no dragon. You can climb out of a window for all I care!"

Harmony continued diplomatic discussion while her husband did some much needed investigation.

Pulling on Mask of the Psion, Lurk turned his mental self to face Baron Lamosseau. Leaving his body facing forward, Lurk's ethereal form became invisible as he blocked himself from the minds of everyone but his target.

"So hostile. Convenient that you're the one who let Ten Gauge land for free. Convenient that he saw you talking with someone from the Heymon Empire." Lurk's mental projection glided towards the Silver Baron.

Lamosseau stiffened and he opened his mouth to shout.

Lurk's physical body waggled a digit and a corner of his muzzle turned up. His projection spoke.

"Ah, ah, ah, you're the only one who can hear me right now. What else are you hiding?"

Lurk floated forward, his psionic tendrils waving. His head cocked to one side as Lamosseau's mind roiled like wind blown across the pages of a book. The man's face screwed up in a panic as his eyes darted around the room, secretly hoping that someone else would react to his vision.

"You're keeping all kinds of juicy secrets. There's the usual corruption and bribery... But... Oh? You're been conspiring with the Heymon. They heard about Black Sky Legion and told you to get rid of us. Their spies see us as a threat. Want to nip us in the bud before we grow and give more support to Kadusia and Oxelan. Don't want us to reach Deeka. That's what they told you."

"You have no proof." The Baron growled.

"You only think I have no proof."

"You have no idea what position you've put yourself in. I have powerful friends. You can't touch me."

Lurk laughed loud enough for Lamosseau to shrink back in his seat. The projection got within inches of his face.

"What's that you're thinking of now? A lure. Very interesting. You need to use it soon. The other Barons have grown very suspicious as to why the platinum mine hasn't been producing. You've stalled them by minting old bars over again from the Lamosseau vaults, but you're running out. The Heymon promised you a lot of things, didn't they? And to you, either Lamosseau gets to rule Orza, or no one does."

Lamosseau flinched as a waving tendril almost touched him.

"What's a Platinum Wyrm, Baron Lamosseau? Pray, tell me what ever could that be?"

"There is no Platinum Wyrm!" He shouted at the phantom and shot to his feet. Only to blink and the illusion disappear. Baron Lamosseau looked at Lurk as the draconic man smirked.

Everyone else in the council chamber was staring.

Baron Nothier turned an even paler shade than her makeup and nearly fainted. The other men stared in a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

Baron Vellot wore his trademark scowl. And his eyes blazed as he spoke with deathly seriousness.

"Lamosseau," Vellot's eyes blazed with an old hatred. "You will explain yourself. Now." Vellot's knuckles turned white as his desk groaned under the man's grip. Baron Vellot technically did not have the authority to command any of the other houses. No one did. But his command would brook no argument.

"Mark my words." Baron Lamosseau pointed accusingly at the other nobles still sitting. "There will be consequences for associating with monsters." Glaring at Lurk and Harmony, he threw his cape over one shoulder and stomped out to take a rear exit where his carriage waited.

***BSL***

On his way back to the Lamosseau estate Baron Lamosseau shook uncontrollably in his carriage. He clutched the crooked wand made of Platinum Wyrm scales tightly to his thundering heart. His plots were unravelling. Keeping everything a secret had taken years of planning.

The Baron had an escape plan for just such an occasion. He and his house would escape at speed out of the nearest gate with their surviving household knights. It was getting late, and by the time word of his departure would reach the other houses, they would have much greater problems. Baron Lamosseau had woken up that morning, and not imagined any outcome other than success. Especially after giving so much silver for the old ballista. That transaction alone had given him a few more gray hairs.

If everything went as the Baron had designed, by morning the next day, Orza would be rubble. The destruction would be just another footnote in a city that had gone through many such catastrophes. Once he activated the wand, there would not be much time. The lure had been placed in the heart of the city. And the Platinum Wyrms hidden in his mines would come bursting forth to lay waste to the silver city. Heymon victory was inevitable. Not even the Coalition could stand forever. Better that an Orzan ruled Orza. Even if it was only as a vassal. And what better Orzan than House Lamosseau?

He had to protect his family and get them all out of Orza. It would be a long journey over rough terrain to the waystation set aside for his household. From there he could decide whether it was worth returning to the destroyed ruins of Orza after the Wyrm did its work, or flee all the way to Heymon. With his connections and more than a few carriages full of silver, he could purchase a place in the foreign country.

Then, he spoke to the wand. The scales unraveled and fell like flower petals. They crumbled into glittering dust as they touched the floor of the carriage. Strangely, a calm settled on the man once the deed was done. Events had been set into motion that could not be stopped, and there was only action left.

The few remaining minutes of his journey passed in a flash. He instructed his driver to go get the other carriages ready and walked briskly into his home.

As soon as he threw open the doors of the lavish Lamosseau manor, something was off. All the lanterns were dark. There were no footmen or servants to greet him. A stifling quiet was broken only by his muffled footsteps on well-tended carpet.

"Why is it so dark in here? Servants! Where is everyone."

Frowning deeply, Lamosseau at last came to the dining hall with its doors closed. Doors that should not have been closed. His heart started beating quickly again, but time was of the essence, so he went inside.

Every living denizen of the manor was present. Seated at the long table, they all were face down. They all straightened in their seats and twisted to look his way as the Baron entered. He could hear the motion in their necks, dry pops from their tendons as everyone turned to him. The only light came from a few lit candles on the table, light flickering off faces pulled into unnatural grins. Some still held awareness, and panic made them twitchy. Others looked glassy and limp, like dolls.

"Hi, dad." Spoke his eldest son. One of the young man's eyes rolled back in its socket and blood wept down his cheek. "Do you believe in monsters?" He asked as a few drops of scarlet dripped off his lips and stained his smile.

"Darling, what a terrible host you've been. Black Sky Legion were our guests! I wish you would have told meeeee!" His wife shrieked for a moment, her mouth contorting into a gaping hole. Then the scream cut off as her teeth clamped shut, severing the end of her tongue. The woman resumed her rictus grin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lamosseau uttered.

All their lips moved in unison, layering their many voices into a choir of the damned.

"Hello, and good evening. My name is Skitharix."

Baron Lamosseau heard a sound similar to gears and leather snapping. Though it echoed in the dark hall, the Baron whirled and searched for the puppeteer. From the corner of the room where the light could not reach, a shadow grew taller and taller, stretching up to brush against the ceiling. A hand made of knives extended into the light, and a voice like a whetstone being dragged across rusted steel issued forth from a hole in the dark.

"But you can call me consequences."

***BSL***

Hello yet again, gentle reader! I'm so glad to put my voice in your heads once more. I do apologize for the abnormal delay. I blame Monster Hunter World Iceborne and RLCraft, the nuts as fuck Minecraft mod. Go play it. I am a huge sucker for great co-op games for obvious Lurk and Harmony parallel wife reasons. My wife and I have really enjoyed it.

I hope you all enjoyed the little finale to this chapter. There are certain milestones within the story of Black Sky Legion. Things within it that have existed before even the first chapter was written.

And personally, I can't wait to meet you at the next milestone.


	12. Platinum Lords

In the wake of Baron Lamosseau's departure, negotiations had stalled as the other leaders of noble Orzan Houses argued about what action they should take against their wayward Lamosseau. Runners were called and dispatched while furtive glances were thrown at the draconic couple standing patiently by. They had no reason to rush.

"Darling, what was all that about?" Asked Harmony. She leaned the haft of her greataxe against a shoulder, tail waving languidly and unperturbed behind her. The Barons muttered to one another and pretended they were not waiting for the monarchs of Black Sky to make the next move.

After a minute or so, Lurk pulled off Mask of the Psion with an amused 'hmph'.

"Do Platinum Wyrms ring a bell, dearheart?" At Lurk's words, the Barons dropped all pretense and openly leaned in to listen to the conversation.

"The Metallic Wyrms have been extinct for nearly a century. Silver Wyrms have not been seen since before the Great Dragon Wars. And the last Platinum Wyrm egg was destroyed almost a century ago." Vellot did not sound entirely sure of his own assertions even as he made them.

Neither Lurk nor Harmony paid the man much mind.

"I remember the Svartalfheim raid with all the Wyrms to get you the Wyrmblood item to unlock the racial. Where else were they?"

"Svartalfheim was where they were mainly found. They burrowed through the tunnels and if you found a vein of precious ore, then whatever Wyrm it was had a chance of popping out. Gold, silver, and the like. Remember, I had that Relic Iron and Fatemetal run in that special Underdark section of Niflheim. All those nodes were in a line." Lurk bounced back. One good design aspect of their old game world was that even mundane farming runs took a long time to lose their luster because of the care that had gone into crafting the explorable and exploitable.

"Of course! I would always get excited, then disappointed. I'd always think it was a Loot Goblin at first." Harmony absently traced the designs in the Stormgold of her axe, wondering when the last time was that she fought a monster that had popped out of a resource node.

The coupled happily babbled at one another, more than willing to waste the Baron's time. All that was left was to wait.

With a melody of crunching glass, a small gate manifested in the open air. A messenger ghoul flew out of the shattered piece of reality. It was normally a simple creature. However, its summoner had gone through the effort of giving it a more aesthetically pleasing appearance. The ghoul was an undead raven with armor grafted in place of skin. Razor thin metal feathers flashed in the lamplight of the council room. It bore the three swords and sun of Black Sky on its chest while its feathers had been painstakingly etched with hundreds of eyes.

"Ah, that must be from Skitharix." Lurk extended his arm and the ghoul dutifully landed on his wrist. The ghoul gave a bow, fanning one of its wings with a whisper of steel.

"High King Lurk, Lord of Black Sky, I have a message for you from my Master of Knives, Artistry, and Most Humble Servant of the True Creators." The ghoul spoke with a raspy murmur.

"Definitely Skitharix." Lurk deadpanned while his wife snorted a giggle. The avian messenger's chest opened to deposit its precious cargo into Lurk's other claw. An ancient journal of peculiar animal hide and a small note tied to it. Indifferent to the way the Barons stared, Lurk unfolded the note and quickly skimmed it.

In Sktharix's own jagged writing the guardian succinctly described the contents of the book as well as the plot surrounding it. The journal of sorts was the secret Lamosseau instruction manual, passed down for generations with accounts from the lineage of Lamosseau Barons. It detailed their control and breeding of the Platinum Wyrms in secret. As well as personal accounts and population censuses for the Wyrms. And at the bottom of the note, Skitharix thanked Lurk for giving him the opportunity to work with such wonderfull canvases.

"Excellent. Tell Skitharix to gather anything we can gain more information from. Books. Scrolls. Especially financial ledgers and business records. Be sure to leave the estate otherwise intact and to not be seen."

"By your word and will, High King." The ghoul gave another bow. With a hop and a flap, it propelled itself back through the small gate. The portal vanished in the wake of the ghoul's passing as the Silver Barons all looked on in varying degrees of awe or worry.

After clearing his throat, Lurk addressed the council.

"So, yes, Baron Lamosseau had every intention of betraying all of you to the Heymon Empire. They ordered him to block us from meeting with all of you. Then, when that failed, he went ahead and used a magical artifact to summon a number of Platinum Wyrms to destroy the city while he flees."

"Hm, so that's why he got all huffy. Reminds me of when our friends in the Cherry Gang got insided." Harmony recalled.

Although they all displayed a mixture of shock and rage, the Barons said nothing. Lurk flipped to the last entry in the Lamoseau ledger.

"Let's see. By the latest population numbers a few weeks ago, there were three hundred and twenty-two juveniles, three adults, and one elder."

That was the tipping point for the council chamber to erupt. Nothier went somehow paler than her makeup and started shrieking for her attendants. Surging to his feet, Baron Bellane pointed to Lurk and Harmony. His voice was mostly lost in the commotion, but he made sure to drive his point home by drawing a shortsword too encrusted with jewels to be practical in combat and stabbing it into his table. Even tipsy, Choistel had enough presence of mind to chug a special potion which both sobered, and calmed his nerves. The heavier set man followed Nothier's example and demanded his retinue of household knights be summoned.

Above it all, Vellot tried and failed to gain control of the situation as it spiraled into chaos. The household retainers who had been squeezing in and out of the council chamber's few alternative entrances did not help. They overheard everything and several slipped away to get their own families to safety. Fear of Silver and Platinum Wyrms ran deep within Orza. Though not seen in a long time, there were scars which ran deeper than the furthest fathoms of the Firestone mines. If Orzan blood ran silver, then the Wyrms were swarming leeches. Whisper of them put terror into the hearts and minds of children and adults.

A slight shake went unnoticed by the humans in the room.

"Sweetie, you know that..." Harmony pointedly tapped her foot.

"I know, give it a second." Lurk punctuated his response by racking the bolt on his Dreadspear and grasping the weapon with both claws. His wife gave a nod and turned back to the Barons.

A Platinum Wyrm burst through the very floorboards of the council room. As thick as a man was tall, splintered wood erupted from the Wyrm's emergence. Interlocking scales rippled with motion as two legs unfolded into matins-like limbs, lined with inward curving spike to catch and rip apart prey. Or grab and hold while it chewed its victims to pieces with crushing teeth more akin to a wall drill. The defining trait of the Platinum Wyrm was its pointed, prow-like head. Pure, glittering platinum reinforced its bony plates which it used to devastating effect. The creature had burrowed through the bedrock foundation of the city as easily as soft clay.

Screaming filled the room, undercut by the Wyrm's chittering sounds as it hunted. Its many jointed legs reached out as its body curved towards the nearest target. An unfortunate Bellane fell back but had nowhere to go.

Bakoom!

Lurk's Dreadspear was deafening in the enclosed space.

At such close range, his shot impacted the Wyrm just above where it protruded from the floor like a larva from overripe fruit. Chunks of hide, chitin, and guts were forcibly ejected around the wound as only a thin strip of gristle kept it from being cut completely in two. Viscera so dark it glistened black in the light splattered the floor and splashed Barron Bellane's legs. Swaying just for a moment, the Wyrm shuddered and died as it fell loosely off to one side. Its many pounds amounting only in a wooden thump. More dark blood leaked from its mouth as its legs twitched once... Twice... Then grew still.

"Oh, he was a juicy one." Harmony giggled at her own joke as the Orzans looked on in horror. A living nightmare had just tried to eat one of them, and the armored dragon lady was laughing over its corpse.

"That... That must have been one of the adults, right? Had to." Vellot mumbled.

"Definitely just a juvenile. Believe me, there wouldn't be much building left if it had been an adult." Lurk thoughtfully rubbed a claw along his jaw.

Leveling her axe and sweeping it from one Baron to another, Harmony glared at the Orzans.

"Our soldier lands, and one of your houses try and kill him. Just walking down the streets he is assaulted by two different criminal groups that your inept city guard could neither stop nor interfere with. And after being assaulted, where was Nothier? Vellot? Bellane? Choistel? And now, one of your own has set a not inconsiderable force of Platinum Wyrms in motion to destroy Orza. And it's not our problem at this point. Black Sky Legion can offer you help. But we are not doing anything for free. We have seen how honorable and trustworthy this city is."

"How do we know it wasn't you who brought these Platinum Wyrms with you? This could all just be a ploy for all we know! Even if it is all just some great coincidence, you are still accusing a Silver Baron of trying to kill the rest of us." Bellane shouted, his voice cracking on 'Wyrm'. He looked to his fellow Orzans for support.

Harmony stepped around the Wyrm corpse to where Baron Lamosseau had been sitting. She reached down and picked up a wafer thin platinum scale off the chair, her tail waving methodically. Wearing her disdain for all to see, Harmony held up the scale. Though smaller, the folded pattern which edged the item made it a perfect match for the larger specimen on the floor.

"That must have come from a baby." Nothier gasped, glancing between the glint and the dead Wyrm sticking out of the floor.

On her way back to stand by Lurk's side once more, Harmony handed off the scale.

"Good eye." He rumbled in admiration and disgust, holding up the glinting trinket.

"Call it a hunch. Too convenient for one to pop up right here. If I'd been that fucker, I'd have made sure that I stuck it to the other Barons. Like a mob boss putting a hit on the jury that convicts him."

"Aha!" The Ancient Incarnate crowed, remembering a little detail. "Hold on, I skimmed something in here." Lurk sunk his Dreadspear into the cracked floorboards and opened the secret Lamosseau journal once again. Flipping a few pages back and forth, the King of Black Sky read aloud for everyone to hear.

"'Baron Bellane is not only young and hotheaded, but a fool. A few months ago I won his friendship and it has already yielded great fruits. Earlier this very evening the impulsive dullard confided in me details of his many trysts at a particular brothel. One that will do with a new, Lamosseau owner. I'm sure it won't be hard to get Bellane to sire a bastard or two if he has not already. He will learn the cost of indiscretion. Knowing his father, I'm sure the late Baron would be turning in his grave knowing his son has fallen so far into debauchery he bragged of slitting the throat of one back alley whore who knew his identity and tried to extort the Belane house.'"

Anger and determination melted off Bellane's face to be replaced with a distinctly existential expression of loss. Vellot, Choistel, and Nothier all seemed to be processing this new development in different ways. Each of them had spies and suspicions of one another that had festered for generations. In the poignant gap of conversation, the two halves of the Platinum Wyrm noisily separated in a spray of pressurized gore that reached the silver dome overhead.

Nothier flinched as a fat droplet of brackish blood plopped onto the table she was seated at. No amount of makeup could hide the lines that years had carved into her cheeks at that time.

"What would you take as payment?" She asked.

"Access to everything that Lamosseau owned. We pick what we want, then you're free to divvy up what's left." Came Lurk's immediate response.

Harmony gave a look of askance at her husband and a quick message had her smiling.

"We agree to these terms." Baron Nothier replied.

"You can't just make decisions without the majority-" Vellot started, already revving up his glare.

"Stuff it, Vellot. You might hold the high chair, but we're still a part of this council too." The portly Choistel cut the other man off. "House Choistel agrees to the terms as well. Black Sky Legion will eliminate the scourge of the..." He pulled at his collar and gulped. "Platinum Wyrms, and in exchange will be granted whatever property of House Lamosseau that remains."

***BSL***

Lurk and Ten Gauge moved as men with purpose across the central Orza plaza. That kind of steadfast hurry which predicated action. Both gripped their respective weapons with finger and claw close to their triggers. Although it was rapidly becoming late in the day, the heart of the city was still busy. People moved through their normal routines, none the wiser to the tremors growing stronger bellow. Except for some. A few who knew spread the word in hushed tones as horses brayed, sensing what their riders could not. Many more crowded and gawped at the foreigners. Some with wonder. Some with fear.

All of them wondering what was going to happen next.

Novus was already gone. Once his duty had been fulfilled, and goats eaten, the Dracolich had departed back to The Citadel. The force of Painlords which had accompanied the Black Sky monarchs surrounded the plaza. Shaded rooftops still held numerous knives as Flayers stalked just out of sight from the masses. They especially bunched up wherever Harmony walked.

"Ten Gauge," Lurk talked as they moved. "How long until the Elder Wyrm emerges?" Panning his gaze, he ran through a mental checklist of preparations. He felt confidence born of purpose, and let himself sink into leadership mode.

"Based on its movement through the ground, I'd estimate that it's waiting for the juveniles and adults to lead the way. A matter of minutes now, Holy Lord."

"Our friend Lamosseau, certainly wanted to make a grand distraction for his getaway."

"Was that the whole reason for his charade, Holy Lord? All this just to escape?" Ten Gauge gave a particularly derisive click of his jaw.

"He was under the impression that if the other houses were to find out he was double dealing with the Heymon Empire they would turn on him in a hurry. He was definitely right about that. He planned to have an ace up his sleeve that he could either use to hold Orza hostage or bring it to ruin so that he could hand the Heymon the keys to the kingdom and be patted on the head and given treats like a good dog."

They crossed around the plaza in their circuit and headed back toward where Ten Gauge's team were setting up.

Lurk's focus shifted from the Painlords and magic barriers to the men and women pointing or staring his way. How many husbands and wives? Sons and daughters? People of Orza who lived in the city all their lives. Who had no say in the politics of the Silver Barons, and were at the mercy of the whims of nobles that spent their people like poker chips in larger games. A low anger kindled behind Lurk's eyes. An old hate for a world so rife with disparity that a million human lives served little more than to oil the gears of a machine that wiped the dirt from the boots of those who stood on top. As the unwelcome retrospection intruded, Lurk looked for his wife.

On one side of the plaza was a ritzy restaurant. The owners and patrons had been tipped off about the impending doom and had left in a hurry. Harmony sat at one of the wrought iron outdoor tables. She reclined casually and her tail twitched with excited energy, tip flicking quickly. Seeing Lurk looking her way, Harmony gave a toothy grin and a rapid wave. Just as quickly as the shroud of the old world fell on Lurk, its phantom was lifted by that smile and excited little wave.

Although it was a welcome distraction, Ten Gauge helped pull the Ancient Incarnate's mind back to the present.

"Even if he held disdain for the rest of the council, the contempt he held for his people is appalling. They are only humans, but how wasteful." Another derogatory click made Ten Gauge's thoughts on the matter clear.

Lurk chuckled. Although he would not speak of it until he and Harmony had a private moment later, Lurk felt an easy confidence around the Wendigo. The gamer turned king was glad of Ten Gauge's manner. In his old life, dealing with unruly or incompetent underlings was something he hated. Yet from The Citadel's might guardians down to the lowest level maid, he had never felt uncomfortable in dealing with anyone. The grovelling still made him worry about living up to their trust in his judgement. He was responsible for making sure that their loyalty grew from his actions, and not residual programming.

"Wasteful indeed." Lurk gestured forward to the pulsing light in front of the squad. "The Juveniles are low enough in level that a [Lure] will hopefully do the trick. Trying to use the [Lure] outside of the city would have been a gamble. The adults might not be affected, but they should follow the commotion. Skitharix is on standby in case any decide to pop up outside of the plaza."

"It is an excellent plan, Holy Lord. These people shall be grateful for whatever city you deign they shall have left.

"A city is its people, and its people are its heart. We win the love of the citizens and we'll have won the city." Lurk spoke with a measure of finality as he and his creation finished their tour and came to the waiting squad of Legion warriors.

Ten Gauge and his team had worked hard to fulfill both the spirit and letter of their mandate. So they were given the honor of repelling the Platinum Wyrm scourge.

Among the supplies of the Caliber Court teams were powerful pieces of equipment in case of emergencies. Special explosives, higher tier guns from the old YGGDRASIL weapon foundries, squad weapons, and more. Lurk had told his teams to experiment and see what was effective in the new frontiers they found themselves in.

The four Sharpshooters of Ten Gauge's crew were split into pairs. They had set up their Type Fifty machine guns on one end of the plaza and were doing final checks before the Wyrms made their emergence. One Sharpshooter sat behind the butterfly triggers between legs of the weapon tripod while the other stood ready to attach fresh belts of ammunition. Type Fiftys were twin-linked heavy machine guns. Boxes of ammunition hung off either side, feeding the pair of hungry receivers.

There was a Type Twenty-Five autocannon still packed away on the Greater Wyvern, but they wanted to save Orza, not blow holes in it. Also their Greater Wyvern was occupied circling high above, watching the streets in case Wyrms came up somewhere they were not supposed to.

The two Corsairs had exchanged their carbines for full sized Thresher repeater crossbows. Lower rate of fire. Smaller magazine. A lot more impact. The Corsairs were going to be engaging targets that needed to be neutralized with speed. The deadly ash bloom toxin was not ideal against enemies that would likely swarm. Stopping power was the name of the game. And the wide limbs of the Threshers gave their larger bolts much greater velocity compared to the compact carbines.

Ten Gauge's Painlord stood behind the entrenched gunners, ready to aid them in unlikely event some Wyrms came from underneath or behind.

Magic barriers against accidental shots had been set up in the inevitable case of a missed bullet going into the crowd. Lurk wanted numerous witness accounts to make sure the Silver Barons could not twist the events and spin it to their benefit. He saw their work with the city states as an investment. One that he wanted to protect against those who stood to profit dishonestly from Black Sky's efforts.

The half-dozen Silver Knights did not wait in front of their ranged comrades. They had a much more important position. That of being the wall between the coming threat and their Fair Lady.

Ten Gauge himself took his place between the guns, in front of the pulsing amber light of the magical [Lure], floating just off the ground. Lurk looked the group up and down, nodding more to himself than anyone else.

"I'm sure there won't be any problems, but it never hurts to be prepared. I'll give everyone a few buffs. Just in case."

Ten Gauge, the Sharpshooters, Corsairs, and Painlord, all kneeled before their King. The display of loyalty served to strengthen Lurk's resolve to be the leader that Black Sky Legion needed. And he made a mental note to talk with Harmony on how best to reward the soldiers doing the busywork for Black Sky. He extended a claw towards the squad and called upon his magic.

"[Mordicant's Tracer]. [Tetragrammaton Focus]. [Superior Free Reload]. [Entrenched]. [Superior Reaction Shot]. [Tetragrammaton Overwatch]."

Each of those in range of Lurk's intended effect glowed briefly with the enchantments. Changing the target of the spells from self to allies in area was laughably easy. He simply willed it so, and his mana fulfilled the rest. Although Lurk did not think much of the few small buffs he was imparting, to the Black Sky soldiers, it was everything. They would whisper in awe at the taste of their High Lord's might. At his foresight. His blessing. Their reverence in him only deepened.

Even the Painlord with its machine intelligence, recognized its creator's sanctity.

Lurk looked to each in turn, meeting every furtive eye with a smile and a nod. Ending with Ten Gauge. The Wendigo's eyes blazed with conviction.

"We will not fail you, High Lord Lurk. King of Black Sky Legion. Though we are unworthy of your graces, no enemy can best us now. For in your presence, with the gift of your magic, victory is the only possible outcome."

"Just as you have faith in me, Ten Gauge, I have faith in you and your team." Lurk could only hope that his sincerity came across as genuine. He still had his own part to play. With steady flaps of his wings, the Ancient Incarnate flew up and hovered in the middle of the plaza. A quick spell gave his voice the volume to project all throughout the city streets.

"People of Orza! May I have your attention, please?" He paused, waiting for his address to reach the ears of everyone willing to listen. Many paused just to marvel at the magic feat of a scope none of them had ever witnessed.

"My name is Lurk, leader of Black Sky Legion. I have learned a terrible secret. One of your own has turned against you! A traitorous Silver Baron has unleashed monsters to set to end Orza. As I speak, hundreds of Platinum Wyrms are coming to destroy your city and her people."

A murmur of discontent washed through the people. Lurk waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

"Your true leaders have asked for our help. And because of that, no innocent man, woman, or child who calls Orza their home shall come to harm. By my word as High Lord, Black Sky Legion is here. And Black Sky Legion will save you all."

Lurk's declaration was punctuated by the dozen assembled Painlords slamming metal fists against their chest plating. The chorus of their strength affirming their creator's assertion. Squaring his shoulders, Lurk landed off to one side to observe as the Black Sky soldiers stood at the ready.

Harmony hummed idly to herself as she watched the events unfolding.

The architecture of the city reminded her of Helheim, though with fewer skeletal motifs everywhere. Dark stone and spruce wood from the northern forests coupled with the silver spires of Orza seemed reminiscent of that gothic architecture. Harmony looked up in thought. She was sure Lurk could tell her more once they were back home.

She found it adorable how the Silver Knights formed up to protect her. The gleam of their armor far surpassed any of the city towers. They stood proudly, spears leaning against their shields, ready to defend her. Just to keep her hands busy, she rubbed the wrapped handle of her Stormgold Kurze axe.

A man started and stopped, drawing her eye. Someone she recognized.

"Baron Vellot, over here!" Harmony called over to the man. Haggard, his face churned through determination, fear, and hopelessness. When he heard the Scarlet Drake, he looked around as if in a dream. Tail wagging fearlessly, Harmony wore an expression better suited to a courtly lady taking an evening repaste... In full plate armor with a weapon larger than herself.

Vellot wandered over, somewhat dazed. Even after seeing what Lurk had done to the Platinum Wyrm in the council chambers, there was no way such a magic caster could stem the tide on his own. A nest. Adults. An Elder. Even his best men were barely a match for a small Wyrm. Vellot was unescorted. He had already sent his retainers to get his own family out of the city with all due speed. The Baron was still there trying to coordinate the meager city guard. But he was under no delusions about the outcome.

"Queen Harmony? What... What are you doing? We..." He looked around at his city with wide eyes, like he was seeing it for the last time and was trying to preserve the sight in his memory. "We need to... Orza."

"Have a seat, Baron Vellot, you look beside yourself with worry. No need. No need. Come on. Sit." Harmony invited him to take the chair opposite from her.

Once again the Baron's face went through disbelief, grief, bewilderment, then acceptance. He sat. Slumping into the seat, his eyes grew distant.

"I... Did all I could. There's still so many people." Vellot looked to the crowds, knowing he had failed his city.

Harmony flicked her tail and one hand dismissively.

"A few hundred juvenile Wyrms are no trouble at all for us. Let me tell you about this dungeon my husband and I tackled. There were only juveniles right at the beginning. A few [Inferno Wall]s and the Wyrms just burned up trying to get to us. No, no, no, the actually difficult part was tackling the Celestial Wyrms and-"

A Flayer approached from behind, clutching its precious cargo. Baron Vellot nearly jumped out of his seat at the unearthly proximity of the flesh robe wearing abomination. At odd with its sharp appendages, it placed a fresh pitcher of iced lemonade and two empty glasses on the table next to Harmony.

"Thank you very much!" The Scarlet Drake chirped.

The Flayer shyly covered its face and bobbed its head before vanishing once more. Harmony poured them both drinks, setting the tall crystal cup in front of Vellot and continued with her story. Poor Vellot stared at the glass, wondering what kind of insanity would possess someone to have an iced drink on such a cold day. Being much closer to the frighteningly well-armed Queen than he had been in the council room, the Baron could feel the heat radiating from Harmony in waves. Frigid air that his cloak or Firestone amulet could not dispel was a mild breeze next to the bonfire of the horned woman.

"It was actually an excellent encounter to harvest Scarletite and a few other rare materials. The Celestial Wyrms would summon Ancients of different metals. The Ancients would of course prompt Elder Wyrms and... Oh! It's about to begin."

Baron Vellot was about to ask what the Queen meant, when he felt it too.

Rumbling from the deep quelled the last murmurs from the crowd. Orza herself held its breath, hushed like a babe in its cradle before a blizzard breaks down the windows.

Churning and grinding, parts of the ground sagged as the foundation was displaced and glittering prows came up like silver tumors. The Wyrms used their legs to pull themselves up, squirming free of their underground home for the first time. One or two turned to dozens, then the stone plaza boiled as hundreds of juvenile Wyrms burst from the earth. It was the dirge of Orza. People broke and ran, their screams drowned by such noise that would haunt the waking nightmares of many who were there that day. Some stood frozen, unable to look away. Unable to tear themselves from the sight and sound.

For all the discord, the guns of Black Sky were louder.

Once their targets were clear and out of cover, the Sharpshooters opened up with their Type Fiftys. They used controlled bursts while the swarm grew. Their targets were large and numerous. At such close range in a wide, flat area, it was just a matter of if their rate of fire could over match the number of enemies. Large caliber bullets cut into the carapaces of Platinum Wyrms until the plaza was stained by brackish ichor.

More kept coming. Pointed heads began rising faster than could be shot. As the writhing mass contorted, the Wyrm's attention was inexorably drawn towards the [Lure]. Lamprey mouths opened and juvenile bodies undulated with frenzied purpose. Bursts of chattering fire from the Type Fiftys grew into roars of full auto as the corpses grew in number. Shifting targets was not a problem as the Sharpshooters panned their guns back and forth. Tracers interspaced the rounds fired, fanning out in streaks of light. Magic buffs applied by their King meant that the longer they fired, and the more enemies their were, the stronger the Sharpshooters became.

Screeching and confused, the swarm of Wyrms was slowed as bodies began to pile up, forcing the overgrown insects to climb over or under their dead and dying. And the Demi-Claws were not the only ones holding back the tide.

Although not as flashy to shoot, Thresher bolts from the Corsairs resulted in spectacular kills. Juvenile Wyrms were perforated by machine gun fire, but were ripped to pieces by the heavy crossbows. Some were picked up and pinned like insect speciments to building fronts around the plaza while others were twisted into obscene shapes by the force of impact. Some Wyrms were thrown aside by those struck and holes were bored through the piles of mounting bodies. To the Orzans who witnessed the events they would later swear that the strange elves had magic crossbows more powerful than even the ancient dragon slaying ballistas of the city.

A few Wyrms around the edges of the group went for the civilians, but quick intervention by the Painlords prevented any casualties. Those close enough saw the towering golems dispatch terrors in a single blow that should have taken fifty seasoned men to kill. Swords that split the nightmares into pices. Spears that skewered as easily as fisherman hooks. And more besides. [Napalm] and [Blood Lightning] could cause collateral damage. So [Impalement] was the Painlord's spell of choice. Iron spikes shot out of the ground at sharp angles, making further protective barriers between the Wyrms pinned by the magic and people.

Baron Vellot rose to his feet in alarm. His heart thudded as the Wyrms encroached closer. A wave of scurrying legs, undulating bodies, and perversely glittering heads seemed to be coming straight towards him. Claws raked through churned up stone and living Wyrms squirmed through the dead ones. He was aghast by the noise and tumult. The magic weapons Black Sky Legion had brought were terrifying. Strange blocks of metal spat fire and thunder which emitted hundreds of darts of light that flashed across Vellot's eyes. Crossbows that lifted and threw Platinum Wyrms like toys.

It took him actual seconds to realize that the roiling wave had stalled in its advance. A mass of beasts that could destroy Orza and slaughter her people was being chewed to bits by the teeth of otherworldly weapons. The city would have been overrun with the Orzan army away fighting with the Coalition on the fields of Deeka.

A small knot broke off from the whole. To Baron Vellot, the monsters seemed to form a single whole. Not many, but one creature with a thousand limbs and a million teeth all wanting him. He froze as animal fear froze him, seeing the Wyrms rear back to strike at the six Black Sky knights standing between him and death. Then came fire.

"[Enkindled]."

At the word of their Queen, the wings of the Silver Knight's helms began to glow and shed burning embers. That same aura edged their shields and caused the tips of their spears to blaze. When the Wyrms were in range and the Silver Knights struck, their weapons parted hide, chitin, and bone like wet paper. Six spears flashed, and six Wyrms were felled. The fallen were left with smoldering holes as the warriors reset their stance. With their Fair Lady's blessing, they could slay any affront to her with a single blow.

Even though her crimson eyes were bright and alert, Harmony folded one leg over another as she refilled her glass from the pitcher. At least to Vellot, she offered no outward concern in the slightest. More composed than most of his peers, the Silver Baron was not immune to the covetous urges he felt looking at Harmony's Stormgold axe. After the display of magic, he had to grapple with the idea that maybe the weapon and armor were not just for show.

Coat undisturbed, Lurk stood patiently nearby. The Black Sky crest on his back was lit by flashes from the Type Fiftys. His Dreadspear remained firmly upright, the end of it planted on the ground. If the need arose, he could react, but did not foresee needing to. The juvenile Wyrms were too few and too low in level to even be able to hurt him. In his mind, he was weighing and counting. Subtracting enemy numbers from the known total. Adding up how many shots it took to eliminate monsters of such level. Balancing cost effectiveness of what his warriors could do.

Lurk did not need to be there to oversee the operation. He had confidence that Ten Gauge could handle the incursion of Wyrms. What he was there for was to hungrily calculate how much precious metal was in the shining armored prows of the Platinum Wyrms. Because although back in Svartalfheim the Wyrms popping out of resource nodes was certainly annoying, they also dropped large amounts of material on death.

All their gold was minted with the YGGDRASIL coinage. Its value was purely material, and carried next to no backing other than the weight of its gold. Even if they melted down some of their coins, the infusion of gold into the markets of the kingdoms would cause quite harmful amounts of inflation. Devaluing everything until economies collapsed and Black Sky had nothing but pretty yellow metal. Yet the platinum fed to the Wyrms over generations by the Lamosseau family was a trackable quantity that could be used.

So it was that as the Wyrms crumpled and died, Lurk added pounds of platinum to the scales with only spent brass casings to tip the balance. He did not light a cigarette, because the heady gunpowder scent did just fine.

The encroaching horde never got within striking distance of the Sharpshooters or Corsairs. After suffering under the fusillade of the Type Fiftys, Thresher crossbows, and outlying Painlords, the number of juvenile Wyrms diminished. Proficiently and efficiently, the juveniles were culled and quiet descended on the plaza once more.

Orza had one chance to take a breath until the first real danger came at last.

As thick as a house, an adult Platinum Wyrm emerged in an eruption of masonry. Dirt, pulverized stone, and Wyrm bodies were flung in all directions. Its dozen legs unfolded and worked itself free. In an odd display from something so monstrous, the adult looked about and seemed to take pause at the death. Although not forced to attack by the [Lure], the locus of magic attracted the monster to the epicenter of the massacre.

It reared and unleashed a harrowing scream. Then lunged forth with speed far too great for a creature of such size. Its mouth was open, ready to consume those who dared kill its children.

Ten Gauge was waiting for the beast. He lifted his Hydra, and used a staple spell of any shotgun job class.

"[Buckshot Hurricane]."

One shot from his Hydra blew off the lower jaw and tore out so much throat and neck that the Platinum Wyrm's head crumpled into the catastrophic wound inflicted on it. Buckshot pierced through softer tissue and shattered bone. Compared to the Shoggoth, the adult Wyrm was child's play.

Without support, the creature's considerable tonnage collapsed to the plaza. Dust and bits of debris clattered against the magical barriers keeping the crowds safe. Gradually the noise died away and the onlookers brave or stupid enough to stay and watch roused each other, pointing or gesturing with hope.

Only then did the Elder and two remaining adult Platinum Wyrms at last made their appearance. All three came up into the plaza with no less fanfare than the first.

While the Elder Wyrm was no larger than the adults, it had many more legs and its glittering metal plating sheathed larger portions of its body. Old scars and cracks in its platinum armor from past rivals adorned the Elder. This was the progenitor. Found in an abandoned nest by a Lamosseau ancestor and raised under magic thrall. Even if Orza's defensive garrison had managed to repel the juveniles, the full grown Wyrms would have decimated whatever remained.

Their appearance had been anticipated, and was not greeted by gunfire.

Roots nearly as thick around as the Wyrms themselves pushed up through the plaza and wrapped around the adults. They were lifted into the air, writhing against their bonds. Wood groaned, but could not be broken by their struggles.

Ten Gauge used a pile of bodies as steps, his Hydra holstered and arm extended, controlling the roots which encircled the Wyrms.

With a much deeper, ululating call, the Elder attacked. It charged straight at the obvious threat. Ten Gauge backhanded the monster, denting its proud metal armor. Staggered, the Wyrm was knocked onto its side for a moment. Letting out a screech, the Elder would not be so easily persuaded, turning back and assaulting its enemy once again. Ten Gauge took the blow head on, catching the prow with his free hand and pinning the Elder down. Though it struggled and bucked, doing everything it could to free itself, the Elder Platinum Wyrm could not overcome the strength of the Doom Slayer which held it pinned. Limbs and body flailing, its muffled shrieks baffled those few still watching.

Just as Lurk had planned, Ten Gauge did not kill the Elder or the last two adults. The Wendigo's mandate was to terminate the first adult and subdue the others.

Then it was Lurk's turn to act. With quick steps, he joined Ten Gauge. Up close, the smell of viscera, blood, and singed blood contrasted with the living, struggling creature. Hot breath from the elder disturbed stone dust. Eyes darting between Lurk and Ten Gauge, it refused to show fear or capitulate. Real life was defiant. Not programmed.

He reached into his inventory to put away his Dreadspear and retrieved a Control Staff.

It was a relatively simple item from YGGDRASIL. A straight yew branch topped with a rough-cut emerald. Useful for gaining control of wild monsters that could be used just like hired NPC mercenaries. It only had a few charges per day, and could only affect anything level ninety or below. However, they were under the staff owner's command until they died or were released.

Lurk tapped the Control Staff against the head of the Elder Wyrm and waved it in the direction of the two adults. One pristine scale from each of them detached and flew to the emerald atop the staff. Yew branches grew from the item and fused to the scales. Now under his Lord's command, Ten Gauge released the adults from his roots and lifted his hand from the Elder.

All three snaked forward and bowed their heads in deference to Lurk. He placed his palm on the metal prow of the Elder, tracing all the blemishes and marks of the creature who had experienced life. To sacrifice the potential long term gain by slaughtering the Wyrm for its platinum would have been wasteful.

"And we are not wasteful."

Lurk did not realize he had spoken aloud until Ten Gauge answered him.

"By your word, and wisdom, Holy Lord."

With a flick of the staff, Lurk sent the three Wyrms to their nest to await orders. They snaked away back down the holes they had burrowed, leaving only dead Wyrms still left in the city center.

Giving a self-deprecating chuckle at his own foolishness, Lurk addressed the city.

"Hear me, Orza! So long as Black Sky Legion is here, no Wyrm shall harm anyone ever again!"

His declaration was simple. The speech was meant for the men and women with fear and wonder in their eyes. The ones who watched the destruction unfold between metal spikes, around Painlord legs, from windows, and through gaps in the drifts of Wyrm corpses. There were a few scattered cheers and whistles until it caught through the Orzans and a rousing jubilation blossomed among the people. If for no other reason than their city got to see another day.

There were still a few more orders of business to take care of. Looking up to the buildings near his wife, Lurk gestured for the hidden Flayers to come to him. Robed abominations plunged from the roofs and soon several dozen clustered around their creator. Their hooded eyes looked up to him with eagerness. Lurk crouched down onto the balls of his feet so he was at their level.

"I bet you guys like platinum just as much as I do." He shared a private smile with the Flayers. In a display he was most certainly not expecting, the Flayers mimicked him, crouching down lower than they normally did and huddled closer. They whispered excitedly and bobbed their heads, the whole bunch taking Lurk's word as gospel.

"Well, these Wyrms are full of it. Let's get these bodies cut up. Take anything that has platinum. Especially the bone plate on their heads. Don't worry about the carcasses other than that unless you guys want some fresh leather. We'll bring it all back to The Citadel and melt it down. Everyone got it?"

Standing, Lurk wondered if he should say anything else. His concern was abated as the Flayers leapt to their feet as their creator did and surged forward to enact his will, as happy as a Gorebull in a chicken coop.

With a spring in their step and freshly sharpened finger knives, the Flayers got to work processing the kills. They labored quickly, but messily. There was a lot of connective tissue to go through in order to separate the dead Wyrms from their platinum prows. Groups of the Flayers piled onto individual bodies, chittering excitedly as they stripped the valuable pieces. Whenever one of them got a particularly shiny scale or cut a platinum rich prow, the group would chitter gleefully.

Lurk took stock of the damage.

There were corpses everywhere. Pinned to buildings. Hanging off rooftops. Even one impaled implausibly up on a silver spire. In piles. In pieces. Stuck onto the iron spikes around the Painlords. Steam rose from the hot ichor spilled so thick it had formed pools in craters of rock and dirt. Fortunately the cold kept the stench to manageable levels, although Lurk tried to breathe through his nose as little as possible. The plaza was absolutely foul with holes. Orza's center looked more like a bombed out warzone than the site of a short, lopsided battle.

Ten Gauge's team whooped and hollered. Fist and chest bumps were exchanged. Spent casings were thrown playfully. Though an argument quickly broke out between the Sharpshooters over who scored the most kills. Corsairs and Silver Knights were of course roped in to the discussion as well. Although debate was momentarily put on hold so that the squad as a whole could admire the flashy [Enkindled] buff that was still active on the Silver Knights. To settle the disagreement on killcount and to claim their own glory, the two Corsairs flitted through fire up onto the Painlord's shoulders and began tallying.

Ever dutiful, Ten Gauge waited by his Lord's side and listened intently as Lurk spoke.

"Ha, what a mess this all is. As much as I'd love to just let the Barons deal with the cleanup, our negligence will only serve to make normal people suffer needlessly. Ten Gauge, if you could please fix the foundation of the city? I'm sure the Wyrms did a number on it. No point saving the people just to have their homes sink into the ground. Though it would be ironic."

"Yes, Holy Lord." A simple spell from Ten Gauge closed up the hole and repaired any damage done to the bedrock of the city. But it did not fix the torn cobblestone of the streets nor remove the hundreds of dead juvenile Wyrms.

"Well done, Ten Gauge. I don't think this could have gone more perfectly."

The Wendigo went down on one knee, holding his riot shield up with one hand while he clasped the other to his heart.

"Any success here is owed to you, Holy Lord. Your forethought is beyond compare. You saw straight through Lamosseau's game. Your divine inspiration turned my difficulties into preemptive destruction of an enemy, complete seizure of his assets with permission from the rulers of Orza, and now," Ten Gauge swept out his arm to encompass the Flayers. "Our display of might has resulted in a substantial haul of riches to adorn The Citadel."

"Your work in Orza has only just begun, Ten Gauge. This will be a difficult mission." Lurk held out the branch of yew with its new scales. "I'm going to leave the Control Staff with you. The Platinum Wyrm's nest is the Lamosseau mines. You might see about using the Wyrms to re open them. A little extra platinum won't hurt us."

"I will not fail you, Holy Lord. High King of Black Sky Legion. I would die before a single scale of you or the Fair Lady was tarnished." Ten Gauge took the staff and felt burdened by glorious purpose. Gifted by the weight of duty. And by his antlers, he would not be found wanting.

An ever so slight frown crept onto Lurk's muzzle.

"Gauge," He began, using the Wendigo's less formal name. Then took a knee as well so his creation did not have to look up to see him. "I expect you to not spend your life on things of little consequence. Everyone of the Legion is precious to me."

Although Ten Gauge had answered every one of his Lord's remarks up to that point, he could find no words and only nodded.

***BSL***

At the abandoned cafe nearby, Baron Vellot felt quite out of sorts.

Having witnessed their power, seen with his own eyes the slaughter wrought by the weapons of the outsiders, with three hundred juvenile and a mythical adult Wyrm lifeless in the center of his city, and after watching High King Lurk both casually subdue and dominate the Elder Platinum Wyrm, Silver Baron Vellot of the House of Vellot, third of his name, patriarch of the greatest noble house of Orza, felt more like a passenger in his own body.

His nerves fried further as Lurk handed off the staff covered in scales from the Wyrms to his deer skull monster without a second glance. Despite the fact that Vellot had not personally lost anything of value, he could not shake the feeling of being diminished in some way. There had been a cost. A price. He just did not know yet how it would be paid.

Baron Vellot found his throat quite dry, and his untouched drink still sat within reach.

Twice as sweet as honey mead, yet unexpectedly smooth, the pale yellow beverage was heavenly. The coldness of it numbed his fingers and stuck icy needles through him and somehow it was not an unwelcome sensation. Chill steadied most any red-blooded Orzan. What the glass held was of such quality, that he wondered if Queen Harmony somehow knew the secret of turning actual gold into a drink, because he certainly would have paid a handsome portion of silver to have more.

High King Lurk was returning with confidence. As if the scenario that had played out was the only one that could have, Lurk walked over to his wife. Although he hid it well, Vellot was contemplating the inhumanity of what he saw. What motives could he glean from their words and actions? He would have to be diligent. The small amount of cognizance that had returned to Vellot told him to watch what the outsiders said and did with care.

Harmony took a dainty sip from her lemonade and held up the glass for her husband. He graciously accepted and had a few hefty swigs himself before handing it back.

"Thank you, darling. Very refreshing. Shall we depart then, my dear?" Offering his claw, Lurk gave a wry smile. Harmony took the chivalrous advance and rose from her seat.

"I think a hot bath is in order, my King." She returned one of her own knowing grins, resting her Kurze axe on one shoulder.

"One that's big enough for both of us I think, my darling dearest dragoness." With no shame whatsoever, Lurk nuzzled Harmony's cheek and gave the hollow of her throat a tease with his tongue.

"Of course! Would we have it any other way?" She giggled, standing on her toes to give his nose a flick with her tongue.

Before they teleported away, Harmony had one last departing comment to make.

"Goodbye, Baron Vellot. Enjoy the lemonade."

***BSL***

Ten Gauge enjoyed a bit of quiet after the eventful few days.

Following the Wyrm invasion and subsequent rebuttal, the Black Sky team assigned to Orza had chosen the Lamosseau watch keep as a base for their operations. All the major, and even some of the smaller noble houses formally maintained the many keeps which surrounded the city. They were from a different era. One wracked by ceaseless war against old powers now fallen to myth. The keeps stood as reminders of that time and many were used to store the old weapons from that age. Though it had been centuries since real war had touched Orza herself.

While his squad was busy at work renovating the keep for their occupation, Ten Gauge sat at a salvaged desk and pored over the information looted from the Lamosseau estate. Before the Wendigo, his workplace was stacked to bursting with books, records, and bundles of parchment. Skitharix had been more than thorough in his duties. Much more still resided safely tucked into Ten Gauge's inventory.

In addition, two bars of pure platinum bearing the Black Sky crest rested next to his Grisha pistol. Minted straight from The Citadel's forge, they were for him to spend as he needed.

The soothing whisper of paper, velum, and leather bindings was music to Ten Gauge's non existent ears. He studied the disorganized mess, determining what was salvageable, what was not, and gradually pulled together a patchwork picture of Orza. Somewhere buried in the pages was truth. It only needed to be found. Teased from the words of men long passed. If nothing else, the search was compelling. First he sought a cursory understanding of the history of Orza. He had already consulted a few different volumes pretending to be the authority on the city's past. Each had contained kernels of truth wrapped in fabrications so deep as to be indistinguishable from folklore. Events that may have happened were freely mixed with legends and lies.

No direct account could be trusted. Everyone had an agenda. Houses that rose would erase the legacy of those they supplanted. Such was the way of victors. Foolish victors who chose to forget what caused the downfall of the old houses.

Then came the ledgers. As a result of his research, Ten Gauge had context to interpret the numbers. First was distinguishing different patterns and principles of accounting. Different ruling mercantile organizations within the city used different measurement units before the standards of the present.

Baron Lamosseau had been outwardly extravagant, and in secret miserly with his family's wealth. Little good it did him in the end. Cross referencing the fake records versus the real ones uncovered by Lord Skitharix painted the canvas of a House walking a razor of ruin. The family to its name owned and controlled one silver mine of average note, two Firestone mines, and the real treasure, one of only three platinum mines. The two bars on the desk gave Ten Gauge an idea of the quantity Lamosseau had forfeited to the Wyrms.

An innocuous ledger from the previous foreman of one of the Lamosseau Firestone mines gave some of the most telling accounts from the present day. Scribbled into the margins and regular reports were the honest thoughts of a man who had his feet in the world of the nobles and common man. Rumors of the platinum mine having no workers coming or going. Complaints of records being manipulated. Worries of workers found catatonic on the job. And more.

On a fresh, separate sheet, Ten Gauge made a note to secure the Lamosseau mines at the next earliest opportunity.

Like an anthropologist uncovering a mural one era at a time, a true picture of Orza's timeline began to reveal itself. The more Ten Gauge saw, the greater his certainty became that there were forces working to destroy the city from the inside out. They hid behind aliases and codewords. They slinked through alleys and occupied parasitic hollows, sucking fresh blood from the veins of the once great silver city.

One weapon of these agents stood far above the others.

Snowdrop.

A beautiful crystal blue flower that only grew in the harshest tundra and could be processed into potent narcotic drugs. It was a poison that was killing Orza as surely as if the Platinum Wyrms had not been stopped, albeit much more slowly.

Survivors of the Shoggoth attack had spilled their guts in more ways than one to Ten Gauge. Unfortunately, the captured Glares were low in the organization. Their brains had given the Wendigo another taste of just how badly Snowdrop ravaged the mind. For normal humans, the flower could be prepared to give either a euphoric high that could be measured in days of rapture, referred to as 'Snowdrop holidays'. Or taken raw to provide a short and intense rush completely free of both pain, fear, and physical limitation. Both the Frostbites and Glares used the latter to mix up combat enhancing cocktails for their enforcers.

It was addictive, softened the mind, and had debilitating withdrawals.

Clicking his jaw thoughtfully to himself, Ten Gauge added more things to his team's priority list.

Just like their Caliber Court leader, the squad as a whole were more than happy to have a nice, relaxed assignment for a time after all the struggle upon arriving in Orza and the subsequent chaos. Silver Knights removed old furniture and tore out neglected flooring that had succumbed to water damage. There was a lot of work to be done to make the keep serviceable for their needs. Nearly all of the old contents had to be stripped. Moldy tapestries, cracked water barrels, and a larder growing several interesting species of fungus just to name a few.

Lamosseau had never placed much importance in maintaining their share of the city's protection. All of the watch keeps were large square stone fortifications. Each one could be sealed against attack and hold out independently. Their tops were more than spacious enough to allow both a Greater Wyvern to land and for the squad to deploy their stationary guns.

One Silver Knight found a particularly motive strip of growth that was actually a moss slime in disguise and brought it from the cellar up to the first floor. The front gates were open as the main hall was being used as a staging area. Having been cleared out first, the space was just old floor, stone, and two staircases leading up and down. Sharpshooters and Corsairs quibbled over sleeping quarters as they hauled in supplies. Since they were going to be stationed in Orza for possibly a long time, the Sharpshooters had donned heavy greatcoats and the Corsairs wore their new Wyrmskin cloaks given to them by the Flayers.

The Silver Knight crept up behind a sharpshooter busy with a crate of ammo and dangled the slime in front of her muzzle.

"Eek! Oh ew!" She squealed, almost tripping backwards to get away from the gelatinous thing. Carefully setting down the box of enchanted rifle grenades, she turned and pointed accusingly at the knight. "That's disgusting! Throw that outside in the burn pile, bucket head. Before it grows."

The others took a small break to laugh along with the prankster knight.

"You lot laugh it up now. I killed the most Wyrms, so I get whatever I want tonight. And you three scale brains better be nice or your tails will be left out in the cold." As she spoke, her extra appendage twitched threateningly in the split in the back of her greatcoat.

Appearing from their streaks of emerald fire, the Corsairs could not resist pitching their thoughts into the discussion.

"You may have tail, but we have tits. Boys are suckers for them no matter what species." Both female Plague Elves patted their chests to emphasize.

"Real men know that butt beats boobs any day." The Sharpshooter crossed her own arms defiantly.

Of course, when the Corsairs lifted their armor and undershirts to bare their bosoms, the three other Sharpshooters were immediately captivated. Petite buds of the palest rosy pink stood out on the snow white skin of the Corsair's modest breasts.

The Silver Knight put his hands up in defeat.

"I'm not getting involved in this debate again. Not after last time. Fair Lady Harmony did not equip us to handle judgement calls between Demi-Claw and Plague Elf anatomy."

Discussion raged on as the Greater Wyvern peaked in through the open gates of the keep.

"Brii den fur dein roak."

In a scramble, the Corsairs covered themselves and shot up to the roof in a trail of flame while the Sharpshooters rushed outside. Meanwhile the Silver Knight ran to collect his brothers.

Rolling his eyes, the Greater Wyvern raised his head up to the window into Ten Gauge's office and told him that a group of humans were approaching.

Not long after, a hundred House Vellot knights rode up to the keep. Following closely behind, a carriage stopped in the road and Vellot himself stepped out. The man clearly had a purpose in mind, and moved with speed. Several retainers dismounted and rushed to catch up with their Baron. They all paused under the glare of the Greater Wyvern and the imposing presence of the Painlord waiting on either side of the gate.

All except Baron Vellot himself. When he looked back and saw the hesitance of his guards he grimaced.

"Wait with the horses." Vellot growled, hands clenching into fists. Though he wanted to warm his numb fingers against his Firestone amulet, he dared not show weakness. Lack of sleep put black circles under his eyes and quite a few new grey hairs sprouted among his dark brown coif. Upon entering the keep, he was greeted by the warriors in full plate that had stood in front of him during the Wyrm attack.

Although they held their spears upright, the warning was clear.

"As leader of the great council of Orza, I am here to discuss grievance with your leader." Vellot challenged.

"This way, Baron Vellot." Said the Silver Knight on the end of the line, breaking off and heading up the stone stairs to higher in the keep.

Pulling his silver lined cloak closer, Vellot did not dignify the instruction with an answer.

The Silver Knight knocked politely on the reinforced door.

"Send him in." Ten Gauge spoke through the iron bound wood.

Two red pinpricks of light rose in skeletal sockets briefly as Baron Vellot stormed inside. The man stomped up to the desk and peered down his nose at the monster seated there.

"Whatever-your-name-was, I am here in the name of Orza to have you return what has been wrongfully taken back to the city."

With an amused and agitated click, Ten Gauge responded.

"Hm, yes, High King Lurk certainly got the measure of you Silver Barons in a hurry. Interesting that you came out here yourself." After another click, Ten Gauge marked his place and closed the book he had been reading. Resting his elbows on the desk, he steepled his fingers and gave the Baron the attention the man was clearly demanding. "What can I do for you, Baron Vellot? Based on your introduction, I'm sure you have quite a bit to hem and haw and sputter on about."

"You came into our city, unwelcome, and turned it into chaos overnight."

"I seem to recall events quite differently, Baron Vellot. I distinctly remember being given permission by someone from House Lamosseau to land at their dockyard warehouse. Black Sky Legion was more than happy to leave this city, but your peers decided to invite us to take care of the very problem that one of your own created. Really you have Lamosseau to blame and thank for us being here."

Baron Vellot had not survived at his post as long as he had by luck, and snapped back.

"The other Barons of the council were out of line when they agreed to the terms your King and Queen laid out to us. The damage to my city was also not stipulated. As reparations, I demand return of this watch keep, the mines, and the immediate destruction of the Platinum Wyrm and all of its eggs. I will not abide such a creature. Orza will never suffer such monsters to live. Never. Not in a thousand years."

Unwittingly, the man's attention was drawn to the platinum bars. Then their owner. Although it was certainly unsettling, Ten Gauge's ghoulish visage alone did not frighten Vellot. It was the physical wealth both on the desk and on the Wendigo's person that gave the Orzan the most concern. In keeping with the Caliber Court, his polished steel cuirass was edged with bright filigree patterns. His finely tailored coat had been given its unique fur collar specifically to accent Ten Gauge's personal aesthetic. Rings with exotic jewels caught the light from the Wendigo's glowing eyes.

"High King Lurk in his foresight, saw fit to give me control of the Platinum Wyrms. They are mine to set to task as I deem fit. And if it will appease you, Baron, then I will gladly give your house knights the opportunity to slay them. I'd be more than happy to summon them into the middle of town and allow you and your people free reign to attempt and kill them. Though from my understanding, there's no Wyrmslayers left in Orza. Or am I missing some hidden context in..." Ten Gauge pulled an aged sheaf of parchment from between a stack of books and consulted it. "'Wyrmslayer Pruld ...Last of his name, widower and sire of none, perished in the battle of Ochre Hill in the united year four-oh-two.'"

Ten gauge was not an underling that the Baron could bully or cajole to his whims through clout of his position. Vellot could not allow himself to lose initiative. Even verbally.

"What about that business with the dragon!"

"Mm, you're going to have to be more specific."

"The huge... Undead one."

"Lord Novus is one of the mighty Guardians of The Citadel, and is one of the few beings who is second only to High King Lurk and Queen Harmony. His duties are manifold and his might an inspiration for the Legion."

***BSL***

Novus had only rarely come upon such a conundrum. He soared on tattered wings high above the molten river running through the scarred earth where Greater Wyverns roosted. Truly this would be one of the great trials of his time. But his mind was sharp and his charge clear.

Should he sleep in his fourth, or sixth favorite napping spot?

***BSL***

Vellot's lustful eye towards the platinum bars gave away his motive before he even spoke.

"If you will not surrender the property, then you will be made to pay for the damage done."

"Is that all? I personally would have thought that seeing what became of your traitorous counterpart would have made you hesitate before coming here and making demands."

"What was done to Baron Lamosseau and his family..." Vellot had to turn away, nearly dry heaving. The Baron had been unable to keep anything in his stomach after seeing what had been done at the Lamosseau estate. That had been his first order of business the day after the Wyrm attack. As much as he had hated the slimy, backstabbing, rotten excuse for a Baron, Vellot would have wished the fate he had witnessed on no one.

"What Lord Skitharix did, was art. Make no mistake about that. And no, I will not be doing any of those things you asked. The Lamosseau estate and all of its holdings, save this fort and their mines, have been graciously turned over to Orza. Precisely to the letter of the bargain. I'm sure the council will be more than happy to divvy up the family's possessions no matter how you feel about their truly inspired new design."

"The Lamosseau vaults were nearly empty."

"So you really didn't care about him or his family, just the wealth you expected yet did not receive. Thank you for clarifying that for me."

"Now wait-"

"If you remember correctly... Scratch that, I'll just tell you. I'm sure you were too busy to read the report on the ambush attempt using heirloom bolt throwers aimed at my team's wyvern when we first entered the city. After interrogating surviving members of the Glares, it appears Baron Lamosseau spent a not inconsiderable fortune to acquire the weapons on short notice. I was delayed within the city while household knights loyal to Lamosseau prepared their trap, apparently at the behest of Heymon Empire agents within your city. It seems word of Black Sky Legion is spreading faster than we anticipated."

The Baron opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for the words to respond to the insanity he was hearing.

"Heymon? In Orza?"

Nodding, Ten Gauge clicked his jaw to hide his amusement.

"This... I... This is a matter that must be brought before the council." Vellot swallowed back the bile in his throat before pointing at the Wendigo. "Make no mistake, you will be held accountable. The council will see to it."

A draconic eye peaked in through the open window.

The Baron took a step back towards the door.

"Risha kula vada rii'vo, Ten Gauge." The Greater Wyvern spoke, informing his leader that all their supplies had been offloaded. The wyvern blinked and looked to the Baron. "Wuk nomag huven ekess sthyr ir jaki shiviri tehoc vi durah, ekess kurts vin zo shafaer jacida to'bar. Zahae jaecrir."

Unable to hold back his laugh, Ten Gauge had to compose himself a moment. The idea that some of the Baron's own household knights were colluding openly to plan an attempt on Vellot's life at the behest of Heymon agents was simply too ironic for Ten Gauge to hold back his mirth.

"Vii'ka? Roka salazaria suka." The Wendigo mourned the waste of good meat. Fear tenderized so well.

"Vii'ka rodun ir kula." The wyvern answered in the affirmative and left to find his own meal. He could never understand Ten Gauge's taste in humans. Cows had so much more flavor.

Insulted at being so clearly brushed aside, Baron Vellot had his hand on the door to leave when the Wendigo called to him.

"Before you go, Baron Vellot, I have one question of my own. A simple matter of curiosity."

"What is it?"

"I have read that some men refer to you, and your House, as the House of steel. What is the origin of that title?"

This causes Baron Vellot to turn back for just a moment.

"It's simple. Vellot controls the only iron mine and the best forges. We make all the tools used in the mines. Because without steel, there can be no silver."

Vellot resumed his departure and yanked the door open. Only to come face to face with a lowly corpse cart man. The cart man kept his eyes down and mumbled a polite greeting as the Silver Baron stormed by.

Hesitantly, the weathered cart tender stepped past the threshold. He had been waiting out in the hall for some time, not daring to interrupt the discussion of his betters.

"Ah, Tully, I'm glad you decided to come. Let me get you a seat." Using a bit of creation magic, Ten Gauge grew a chair from the wooden floor.

Since his knees and back ached more than his behind, Tully was grateful for the reprieve.

"Yes, Lord Ten Gauge. I think only a fool would ignore your message after seein' what I 'ave."

"Did you see our latest business in the town center as well?"

"Lotsa folks claimed to see, but aye. The guard's tryin' t'round up volunteers to take care of all the dead Wyrms. It's slow going. Masons are goin' t'have work for quite a while."

Ten Gauge opened his hand towards the cart man.

"Well, I asked you to come here in order to offer you a much more lucrative job. Nothing strenuous or dangerous. All I want, is information. Tell all your little birdies, your eyes and ears, that if they bring me good bits of information, they'll be well taken care of. I'd be willing to purchase property, furnished according to your needs and kept under watch by reliable sources. Hot food. Warm beds. Enough Firestone to make it through the winter comfortably."

"Yer askin' me t'spy."

"Not exactly. I will never ask you to put yourself in harm's way for information. Or pursue information to possible risk. I may on occasion ask you to direct an inquiry into a specific topic. But nothing you would not overhear at a local bar. Or just by being in the right place at the right time."

"With respect, lord, I am just a cart man."

"Yes, you are as you say, just a cart man. Just a cart man who has managed to not only ingratiate yourself with all the local gangs, nearly every major house, but also most street level city officials. Quite an impressive resume."

"Jus' pays t'be nice, after all."

"It pays to be smart. I have no doubt you have as many eyes and ears as there are crows."

Tully sat straighter.

"We protect each other. Crows flock together. They might not look like much, but they keep the weaker members of the flock warm and fed. So forgive me, Lord Ten Gauge, if I'm a lil' hesitant to trust the... Man... Who has his hand on the collar of a Platinum Wyrm. People are wary right now, lord. Unsure of what an outsider might do with a beastie that fierce."

Not unkindly, Ten Gauge barked a laugh.

"I have no doubt that you heard about the Lamosseau estate?"

Tully, the man who had seen a thousand different deaths, pretty and ugly alike, visibly blanched at the thought.

"If, after witnessing a small sample of Lord Skitharix and his _improvised_ work, you still think that I need a Platinum Wyrm, then I may have overestimated your understanding of the situation.

"Yes, Lord Ten Gauge. You've made your point. You want me to give you information. I can do that. As for my friends, what assurance can I give them?"

"High King Lurk, Holy Lord of Black Sky Legion, graced me with the duty of being the liaison between your people, and mine. To foster trade and mutual benefit. If I think you are useful to that end..."

***BSL***

To Vellot's annoyance, his carriage slowed to a halt.

"Why have we stopped?" He demanded through gritted teeth.

"I'll check, Baron." The retainer who accompanied him in the carriage stepped briskly out and called out to the driver what the hold up was. Vellot's blood was up, and paranoia stung his palms. He did not opt to wait, instead following right on the heels of his household attendant.

Then a blade scraped its scabbard and someone let out a muffled cry. Vellot emerged just in time to see three of his own knights with their blades drawn. One of them stabbed his attendant. They wore grim looks that spoke of men doing what they had to. The dead retainer joined the carriage driver in the frosted dirt and freshly fallen snow.

Baron Vellot drew a shortsword he kept hidden in his cloak. His free hand reached into a pouch on his belt, ready to use his own Meteor Field artifact if he had to. Though his was a safe one that could summon a personal magic shield twice a day.

Something zipped close enough to his head that Vellot ducked down by reflex. A red third eye appeared in the middle knight's forehead. Crimson mist painted the virgin snow. One heartbeat later, the other two suffered the same fate. Peals of thunder echoed from the watch keep at the Baron's back.

Vellot was not free of danger yet, as one last assassin had stayed on his horse and rode behind the Baron. Turning at the sound of hooves, Vellot was able to avoid the sword chopping down towards his head, but the horse body checked him. Impact sent Vellot tumbling to the earth with the wind knocked from his lungs.

Appearing from a streak of emerald flame, one of the strange Black Sky elves manifested. She stood above the Baron and leveled her large crossbow as the horseman turned to make another pass. The weapon thumped so heavily that the snow around the elf's feet was disturbed by the passage of the bolt. Struck center mass, the traitorous household knight flew apart as if he were a toy struck by a hammer, pieces scattered everywhere. Now aimless, the horse slowed to a halt as wet gore dripped from its mane.

Crouching down, the elf cocked her head to one side, seeing if the Baron was still alive. Still catching his breath, Vellot could only blink and stare.

An amused titter came from her strange mask before she vanished in flame once more.

***BSL***

"... Then you will have protection."

"And payment? I like favors as much as the next fellow, if ya catch the gleam o' my silver, but something a little more real... And they say platinum is the truest silver." Tully eyed the bars just as Baron Vellot had.

"The real kind. You can take payment in silver, platinum, or something more discreet."

"You don't think I'll just turn that into Snowdrop and take a holiday in an alley?"

"You mistake me for someone who cares. I will only pay for services rendered. Nothing more. Nothing less. What you do with your payment is none of my concern, because if that little holiday is really worth it, then you will be off my payroll. I am not here to buy loyalty. I hold no expectation to you or your work beyond said payment. I'm not going to make you swear undying fealty or anything of the sort. And I would not expect anyone to work out of a sense of charity."

"What does your Lord pay you in, if I may ask?"

"Gods do not pay you to serve them. All of Black Sky Legion owes a debt to our King and Queen that a thousand lifetimes could not hope to repay. So unless you're inclined to enter that kind of agreement with me..." Ten Gauge tapped one of the bars on his desk. Courtesy of enchanting from The Citadel's forge, a single coin portioned itself from the mass of the bar. The Wendigo flicked it Tully's way.

"I suggest you take the platinum."

Tully, the humble cart man caught it, and turned the coin over. Light flashed on three swords and a blazing sun.

"Aye, Lord... I'll take the platinum."

**BSL***

Author's Notes:

This chapter was supposed to come out weeks ago! But alas, I succumbed to a VERY serious case of the flu. The worst I've had in many many many years. Unfortunately between that, and the insanity of working during the holiday season my time available to write has been... Restricted.

So I'd like to thank all of you again! And I hope this latest chapter was worth the wait. Until next time, gentle reader, may your blades be sharp, and your minds sharper.


	13. Her Champions

Author's Notes: I did not mean for this chapter to take so long! I also did not mean for it to be my longest chapter to date.

I blame all the butt sex. Lots and lots of butt sex.

Oh yes! Warning: This chapter contains butt sex.

***BSL***

It was on the grassy fields of the third floor that Harmony contemplated The Citadel. Specifically her husband's work with the floors preceding hers. He always took his self-imposed duty of The Citadel's protection so seriously. At the time it had just been to protect the real money they had put into a virtual place full of virtual items. Not for the first, and certainly not last time, she was grateful for his almost fanatic dedication.

If anyone were to enter The Citadel as an enemy, having managed to brute force, pick, or magic their way through the formidable front door, they would be greeted by a grueling slog.

Only guild members could freely teleport within The Citadel. And only those coded with permissions could use the teleportation network. No item could be stolen by nefarious parties in order to exploit The Citadel without facing the trials designed. Far more guilds fell from being taken apart from the inside than being assaulted from the outside. Any attack had to be done the hard way. Even the door itself had been designed to require maximum resource investment on behalf of an attacker in exchange for minimal upkeep on behalf of The Citadel. There were stronger ones to be sure. Lurk had toured a few himself. Clever gatehouses and murder hole designs.

Yet it was a point of balance, and Lurk had other ideas on how to allocate the limited resources of the time.

The Alpha and Omega Bunkers were the first floors Lurk had taken to customizing. In fact it had at first been a feverish effort on his part to safeguard the spoils of Black Sky Legion's victory. Those had been hectic days. Burn Dungeons were hotly contested targets. Unprepared guilds would take them, only to have their new bases stolen out from underneath by enterprising PVP guilds. Sharks who scented blood in the water and easy loot.

Alpha was meant to dissuade casual raids with extreme prejudice. A common tactic was to hire as many trash mercenaries as possible and use them to brute force exploitable guild bases. A cheap defense was a few Tenth Tier magical traps and nothing else. Level twenty summons absorbed single target traps just as well as level ninety mercenaries. Alpha's floor was designed to shred anything not a max level tank player. The hard turns and barricades gave quite a bit of trouble to the rudimentary artificial intelligence of summons or mercenary NPCs.

Lurk had coded the Demi-Claw squads to fall back and regroup if enemies crossed certain thresholds to concentrate their firepower the further an intruder got. Another point of trial, error, and theory that had tested Lurk's patience with YGGDRASIL's creation tools. The same roadblocks that stumped enemy AI also fouled the floor's own protectors. Of particular challenge was getting the Sharpshooters to pathfind through side passages that could be used relocate squads and sealed as needed. At work he would daydream about new and inventive designs, scribbling code or floorplans into the margins of whatever scrap paper he could find.

At a glance, the narrow concrete corridors and chokepoints were a bedlam of razorwire, spike barricades. Yet there was a method to the madness. Armored pillboxes watched over the longer stretches with Type Fifty machine guns. All of the hardened fortifications were constructed so that they offered no cover from the back. Meaning that any enemy would find little to no defense as they moved towards the Alpha Bunker itself. Every step had to be paid for with blood or consumables. The devs of YGGDRASIL were expected to create fun and fair challenges while Lurk was under no such contract.

Although the Type Ninety-Nine rifle could only do chip damage to a level one-hundred player, an entire division of Sharpshooters stood ready on both of the first two floors. They operated the mounted weaponry and were given coding to use rifle grenades or satchel charges if the enemy moved up too fast. And they were far from the only threat. [Implosion] mines with delayed triggers were one of the nastier surprises, configured to detonate just after a group had passed the trigger radius.

Of course they were not the only traditional traps. Shotgun turrets were tucked into angled slits so they fired into the backs of attackers. Drop ceilings that hid banks Type Fifty sentry guns to rain lead down from above. Such defenses were expensive to operate and maintain. Back when all three members of Black Sky were on and farming, it was a negligible cost to ensure their base was guarded. Then times changed and much of the floor's systems were suspended to save on upkeep.

With the Alpha Bunker itself the final bastion. A nest of firing slits and hardened concrete. The first floor opened up in a last stretch to the finish line to the next level of The Citadel. And in shielded alcoves or behind sunken barricades, Hellhammers sat, waiting to unleash their promised rage.

Lurk had tested the floor himself numerous times as different tactics evolved over his time as a dedicated player. Coming at it as an enemy, looking for loopholes or paths of lesser resistance that could be exploited. He had mapped out almost every step and consulted many forums on the best approach for direct assault on underground guild bases, reverse engineering successful raiding strategy.

When he had first told Harmony about his plans, she had been... Admittedly a bit skeptical of how much he could do with limited pools of data points. A bit too nosy for her own good while Lurk was offline, she had turned on the defenses to target her and had been initially unimpressed. Then she had taken a shrieker shell from a Hellhammer to the chest and reassessed her assumptions.

There were still a few slapdash workarounds for the problem. YGGDRASIL boasted tens of thousands of spells and numerous jobs with their own unique class abilities. Although temperamental, the best ways that Lurk had found to circumnavigate the worst of it were Ethereal spells, traits, and enchantments. Mixed with dedicated magic resistance to shore up the penalties from using anything classified as Ethereal. Mask of the Abyss let him approximate the effect through his testing. Or the tankiest of tank builds.

And for everything else, there were the floor Guardians.

Before Skitharix and Phage. Before Legion and the Leviathan. Before Nox and Crisis, there was Wrath and Ruin.

Alpha and Omega. Commando and Sniper. Much more advanced behavior options could be used for floor Guardians. They stalked the first floor together and were coded with conditions under which to fall back. Never one without the other. If either of the Deathclaw sisters took too much damage, or enough in too short a time, they would relocated to Alpha. Then if that fell, they had the entire second floor and Omega to use as well.

Being the next level down, Lurk had substantially more data points to play with. Omega was designed as a final stand with the entrance to the third floor located directly underneath. Anyone wishing to make it that far would have to crack into a fortification so encrusted with weapon emplacements that it seemed more like barnacles on the underside of a ship. While Wrath was an independent force, Ruin existed to turn the Bunkers into singularities of firepower. Siegebreaker and Artillery Master meant her presence boosted either fortification to strongholds of obscene destructive might.

Through Wrath and Ruin, Lurk's finger was on every trigger of every Sharpshooter. His eye through iron and scope alike. As he was a Cleric through the Gun Kata, they were his Castellans of the Tetragrammaton. His love of symmetry in design showed even in his NPC creations.

Lurk had equipped the Sharpshooters with their armor and weapons en masse. Not the Deathclaw twins. Deusvore and Absolution Through Ordinance. Two of Lurk's finest guns. Given to NPCs back when data crystals that could be used for Divine class anything were traded on the YGGDRASIL black market for a month of his real world paycheck. Two Autoloader rings. Worth their weight in Celestial Uranium to every Gunner. Again, given freely.

More than the Alpha and Omega Bunkers themselves, Wrath and Ruin were Lurk's mark in the sand. His red line drawn.

Being extensions of will, those thousands of guns when fired declared his intent that no enemy would breach what his wife and best friend had built together. What they had shed blood, sweat, and tears to earn. And if somehow an enemy were to make it through, they would not do so without terrible cost.

Harmony and Woodsolution both had trusted Lurk to create their first line of defense. Through that responsibility and honor, he wrought their hold with the three things he knew the best.

Steel, strategy, and a whole lot of guns.

Looking at the staircase hovering incongruously unsupported from the illusory barrier of the third floor, Harmony could almost imagine seeing Lurk standing there, facing out with his talons planted firmly. The crest on the back of his coat proud and stalwart in his vigil. Her memories flitted down the halls of Alpha and Omega, certain that she was forgetting many of the nuances Lurk had worked in. A grin steadily peeled her lips back as she recalled the numerous attempts to raid The Citadel and the often hilarious results that would follow.

With her Chameleon hide racials and Commando class, Wrath was usually the last thing an intruder never saw. Especially in those early days when cheap Relic tier armor loadouts were all the rage. She boasted the highest kill count of players among the Guardians by a broad factor. Ruin had the most after Wrath, and Phage just behind the other Deathclaw. For a short but entertaining interval, Lurk had posted Phage just around the first bend of the Alpha floor for a few days upon creating her. After reviewing combat logs of the intruders she annihilated while he built the sixth floor, he moved her to the personal Darksteel fortress and joked that leaving her there just would not have been fair to the raiders.

Despite being only a three person guild in a hidden volcanic grotto on one of the harshest hellscapes in all the nine worlds, The Citadel had been subjected to hundreds of raid attempts. Even if few were ever credible threats. Most of the time it was groups of six or less trying to land an easy payday. Some raiders were smart, sending in one party member with death insurance and a few mercenaries to scout so as to decide whether the base was worth the effort.

Some, through ignorance, arrogance, or genuine stupidity, were the opposite.

An amusing quirk of the floor or area Guardians in particular, was their ability to loot dropped gear from their kills.

One particularly flavorful player had died to Wrath on the first floor so many times they had gradually lost most of their valuable gear to her. At least ten times the same person tried and failed. On their final run the player dropped a [Message] item just inside The Citadel's doors and then walked in completely unarmed so they could die and respawn back in Muspelheim's central hub.

Being the first to log on after the savagely determined but woefully under prepared raider had finished and left most, if not all of his Legendary gear along with the note, Harmony had been immediately alerted to The Citadel's doors being breached. First she found Wrath loaded with the person's gear, then the [Message]. The content of the note was a vitriolic rant of such passionate rage as to include personal death threats for each of the 'cheating hacking cheats' who had clearly been in collusion with a Game Master to create such a broken, unfair base defense.

Naturally, Harmony, Lurk, and Woodsolution found this so funny they had first reported the player, then hung the note in the Hall of Memories in its own Shrine of Salty Tears. Although due to privacy law they never found out for certain if the player had been banned, but the Game Master they had given a copy of the message to had taken one look at it and immediately raised the level of their ticket submission.

Another dozen memories threatened to peel her away from what she had originally gone to the third floor to do. Harmony turned away from the staircase to look over her domain. Her creation. Wondering if what she had built would be good enough in the coming days.

Would she be good enough in the coming days?

Not for the first, and certainly not last time, she was grateful that Lurk had transferred with her. She shuddered to consider being alone in such a situation. Would she have made the same decisions? And if not, would they have been the right ones? However, more than it hurt to consider being left behind, her heart ached at the idea of Lurk on his own. It was not a scenario she wanted to countenance.

Instead she turned her thoughts outward, traced back through time, and gauged how many players Legion had killed in their defense. She wondered if he remembered any. If that experience would make him a better fighter in the world they had found themselves in. Despite her husband's best efforts, some raiders did invariably make it through and tested Legion's mettle. And by extension, Harmony's floor design as well as its protectors. If an attacker did manage to surmount Alpha and Omega, Wrath and Ruin, through skill, luck, or numbers, they would find themselves in the midst of the Eternal War of the third floor.

Given that Alpha and Omega was the anvil, then the Eternal War was the hammer poised to fall and shatter any battered enemy that dared to tread.

The Eternal War was so named because the fighting never ceased. Blocks of Silver Knights in different formations moved against each other. Metal heels dug in while formations of the spearmen clashed. Everything from the tips of the winged spears, tower shields, and helms of the Silver Knights themselves glinted in the light cast from a great sun clock gradually creeping across an artificial blue sky. Mild rolling hills covered with durable green grass took up the majority. Mossy boulders were sparingly sprinkled across the hills. A few patches of dirt were scattered here and there to reflect the constant motion of the Eternal War.

After much deliberation, Harmony had decided to go with the ancient battlefield theme of groves with old weapons stuck in the ground instead of trees. Red and orange Fire Lilies from Muspelheim grew between rusted swords, broken polearms, and tattered banners with designs she had lifted from some of her favorite dungeons. Much like the Mystic's Reef, the aesthetic was mostly for cosmetic purposes and to provide enemies next to no cover.

Legion was the cornerstone. The linchpin of the Eternal War. His build culminated fully when he was surrounded by Silver Knights. On his own floor, he could cast buffs that affected every suit of Living Armor.

Warpriest. Tactician. Crusader. Shield Lord.

He turned the individually humble spearmen into colossi. His skills were in a way, an evocation of Harmony's past. In her early days, she had used Tactician and Crusader. With soldier mercenaries and various summons she could anchor the front line quite effectively. Unfortunately in the higher level raids and dungeons, the build offered diminishing returns. There were limits on how many minions Harmony could control out in the game world. And when her most powerful summons could be mowed down by raid bosses faster than she could conjure them, she had set aside the levels with the traditional suicide by world edge into the infinite void.

Granted the time she spent had not been without reward. Harmony learned valuable lessons in what worked and what did not. Much of the strength of her build still relied on buffs. She was a support tank after all. If the healing offered by High Priestess was not as good as it was, Harmony would have chosen Warpriest instead. As much fun as she had layering protective spells onto small groups of summons, ten level ninety NPCs did not have the same presence in battle as two level one-hundred players with the same buffs. Not by a mile. Level disparity in YGGDRASIL had been a common complaint.

The third floor did not have the same restrictions. Legion could support thousands of Silver Knights. Certain force multipliers from the Tactician skill tree such as [Indomitable] and [Hold The Line] gave increasing benefit the more Silver Knights that were affected. If any foe braved the kill zones of Alpha and Omega and still wished to pursue their attack, they would not face the third floor piecemeal. In order to break through to the fourth floor, the entire army of Silver Knights had to be defeated. Phalanxes peeled back layer by layer.

Two pervading enchantments existed on the floor, [Gravity Well], which prevented flying in any form. Second was [Dimensional Lock], blocking any use of teleportation aside from the guild item or teleporter pad. Whether magical, racial or otherwise, any entity wishing to traverse down to the Leviathan's floor would have to it the hard way. It was a fairly common occurrence in higher level dungeon raids. Several other floors of The Citadel had [Dimensional Lock]. Yet only the third had [Gravity Well] too. What gave the magic potency was the fact that it targeted both allies and enemies. By the rules governing guild base construction, making its effect universal allocated the extra resources towards enhancing the effective influence. Harmony had decided the trade off more than worth it. No point in having a floor with melee users if a foe could just fly straight over.

The first two floors blunted blades, stalled momentum, and shredded NPCs. The third floor took advantage of this by applying specific combat restrictions. Enemies were forced into brutal attrition. Ground was not gained by heavy tank builds. Not in any meaningful time frame. Only mana intensive spells or fragile damage dealers could overcome the multiplicative force of Legion's defensive buffs.

As Harmony contemplated her work, it was hard to ignore Legion as the hulking suit of Living Armor pranced like a kid at recess. He was putting his troops through their best parade maneuvers. Every wing on every helm had been polished to a stunning shine. Their creator was on their floor, and every step the huge blocks of spearmen took was in sync. Harmony was quite proud of the trophies that Legion had earned himself. One of his rings had come from a raiding party which had made it that far.

After that day in Orza with the hostile Silver Barons and the Wyrms, Harmony had felt a restless itch in her arms. It had been demonstrated quite clearly that she needed to be prepared to fight too. Lurk had taken to using his suddenly real firearms with a grace and gusto that Harmony envied. Her magic had come to her easily enough. Yet if the need arose, she was unsure if she could trust herself with her avatar's physical skills. She had talked with Lurk about her concerns and he had offered the simple solution of going and practicing. As always he was encouraging, urging her to get comfortable with her abilities at her own pace to see how the transition had changed them.

Harmony's first idea was to get Legion to help.

Even without the practical benefits, just asking was worthwhile to her because of how happy it made him. He had nearly jumped straight up in the air when she had requested his help practicing. Then of course he had sprinted off down the halls of The Citadel to get his floor into tip top condition.

Harmony could no longer hide her emotions behind a face that did not work. And she was glad for it, wearing a grin a mile wide as she followed her creation. That magic, that joy of seeing The Citadel alive and moving had only grown in the time she had spent with its inhabitants.

Even as she waited atop the hill near the staircase up to the second floor, having a long, personal contemplation, she was not alone. To her left and one step back, Crisis was scribbling his thoughts into his new notebook.

She was beginning to grow accustomed to Crisis following her around almost everywhere. In one respect, his presence made her take their situation more seriously, acting as she thought a queen should. Nox spent so much time literally inside of Lurk's shadow that Harmony would not have been surprised to find the darker half of Corona Nox had set up a bedroom in there. At first she felt bad dragging Crisis around wherever her feet took her in The Citadel. Her own discontent at inaction while Lurk put together strategy and battle plan helped pour gasoline on her desire to hone herself.

Yet, Crisis never complained. Even when Harmony had given him the notebook and a little magic quill for communicating, he had only gazed at her with wide eyes and hugged the gift as if it were made of Angel Dust and Mermaid Dreams.

His unconditional affection and joy at such a simple gift that was meant to help him stabbed knives of guilt deep into Harmony's soul. In that pain, she knew Lurk's torment as far as Phage was concerned a little better. When making Nox and Crisis, she had to pick a drawback since Crisis had a higher karma score. Out of her choices from the list, 'mute' seemed like the least debilitating option. Which did not make that decision any less horrid now that Crisis was a living, thinking being.

One of the first questions she had for him after giving him the notebook had been if he disliked how he had been made. Even though they had to be written down, Crisis had responded in his own words that there was nothing he would ever change. Not talking made him feel as though it gave him a mysterious charm, and forcing his brother to translate all the time never grew tiresome. Most importantly, it was how Harmony had made him. For that reason alone she could have made him a slug and he would gladly eat flowers in the Arboretum.

Surrounded by her own creations, happiness bubbled in her stomach.

One subtle detail Harmony had noted that Lurk was still far behind on was the little quirks in behavior exhibited thus far by the Guardians. Legion was especially animated, pumping his fist into the air and gesturing with his shield as the Silver Knights went through their marching formations.

She stole a quick glance back at her personal escort.

Although she had not given Crisis his notebook with the intention of testing his behavioral freedom, the outcome was a galaxy apart from what she expected. The first time she saw him jotting down words outside of talking to her, Harmony had not thought much of it. When he buried his nose in the pages a second time, she had asked him about it. Poor Crisis had nearly been frightened out of his skin. Even so, he had given her the notebook without question. Inside was the last thing Harmony expected.

Poetry of all things!

A limerick jotted into the margins of already used pages. Stanzas secreted along nearly untenable edges of paper. Harmony called them wonderful, simply delighted to find that he enjoyed writing poetry. That he even had likes or dislikes of his own beyond the feeble NPC menu. Once she gave the notebook back, he had furiously wrote a plea for her forgiveness for daring to use her gift for anything other than its intended purpose. She had laughed, hugged him, and told him to use it for whatever he wanted.

Tools for setting Guardian behavior once upon a time had been a spaghetti code that she distinctly remembered Lurk calling: 'Like stapling a face onto a Roomba'. YGGDRASIL devs had once famously been outed by their player base when it was found they had stolen AI pathing code directly from another company. One that indeed, made robotic vacuums. It was not entirely due to competition that the servers had been shut down, after all.

Back in the game, Harmony had personally encountered the restrictions of the artificial systems governing the NPCs more than once.

Now that was gone, and every living being in The Citadel had a mind of their own. What could any of them do with the gift of thought? How far did that free will extend? From the smallest Lamia maid, to the Forgemother herself, what new possibilities opened with the dawning of a new world? Even though the conditions were not perfect, Harmony held out the belief that she and Lurk had transferred not for themselves, but to breathe life into their creations, one and all. She had no proof, save for the sliver of a voice in her heart of hearts that still believed the universe could be kind.

For his part, Legion could not recall a time he had ever been happier. Except perhaps earlier when Harmony had wished him a good morning. His Fair Lady, Creator, Goddess, wanted to spar. Wanted to practice with him. With him!

When the last cohort finished its march, Legion jogged up to Harmony's overlook. He gave a bow, complete with a flourishing flick of his wrist. The Living Armor followed this up by planting his fists on his hips and turning his helmet so he was in profile with the blocks of knights framed behind him.

Once she was done clapping, Harmony felt it only right to compliment the hard work she saw.

"Wonderful, Legion! Everyone looked amazing. I had almost forgotten how many flags there were for the different cohorts."

"Thank you, Lady Harmony! We live by your approval." With a snap of his heels, Legion turned and addressed his soldiers. "Until Black Sky comes!"

"For Black Sky!" Came the reply, accompanied by the stomp of several thousand boots with an equal clattering of spears. They held their parade stance until Legion dismissed them. Having done their duty, the Silver Knights broke off into groups as they normally did in the Eternal War.

Executing a quick turn, Legion held out an arm to usher Harmony to their next destination. Legion led his Fiery Lady to a bowl depression set between some hills with ample room to move and fight. Silver Knights crowded around the hills, jockeying to catch a glimpse of their Creator. None had the gall to approach too near while Crisis stuck closely to his Lady's heel.

Joints popping and Grand Alliance rattling, Harmony began with a few simple warmups. Just stretching. Feeling out how weightless her whole body seemed. Grand Alliance was as light as a feather. She expected the full plate to be restrictive. However the Divine Class armor was precisely fitted to her body, the joints of the armor moving freely no matter how she twisted. She recalled Lurk mentioning that actual medieval armor did not bind up the user as most believed it did. Just like most things in The Citadel, her husband had gone overboard researching ancient warfare for the sake of accurate recreation.

Even though it was wholly unnecessary, Legion stretched too. Connections creaked and groaned as his joints protested the strain. Overall it sounded as though a few dozen metal cans were in furious competition with one another.

Twirling Ebony and Ivory up into her grasp, Harmony was a bit unsure of how to begin.

"So, uh, could we just start slow?"

"Of course! You needn't ask, Fair Lady. I am here to help, however you may require it." Legion would have accommodated his Lady if she had told him to stand still and act like a training dummy. He could tell that she was out of sorts. As though the power of her own muscles was unfamiliar. So he moved slowly for her, just holding up his shield as a boxing partner would.

Her first honest swing landed her squarely on her ass. She put too much power and underestimated how close she was, her axe going wide. Trying to correct herself with her tail only succeeded in turning her the wrong way. End result being her armored backside hitting the dirt.

"Are you alright, my Lady?" Legion asked, imminently concerned.

"Ha ha!" Harmony laughed off her own clumsiness and got back on her feet. "This feels so strange. Like the training wheels have come off."

"My Lady?" Legion cocked his head quizzically, red crest waving.

Harmony held her arms out straight, waggling her fingers along the handles of Ebony and Ivory. Concentrating, she tried to control the swing of one arm and ended up going twice as far as she intended.

"How would I describe it? Before I guess you could say it was like I was wearing an extra suit of armor on top of everything that was packed full of pillows. And now it's gone. Imagine getting hit and never really feeling it. Or hitting something and there isn't the weight that's supposed to be there. I guess it's just easier to move, but harder to control."

Planting the end of his axe into the ground, Legion let out a long 'Hm'. He brushed a gauntlet back across his helmet plume.

"Balance is key! But it is a simple matter. If your muscles are suddenly too touchy, you just need to find your balance again. With control, comes balance. Begin your swing with all your strength." Legion held up his shield and heaved it overhand and brought its edge within a hair of his upright axe before arresting its momentum. "Then stop it as soon as you can. Find that point of control."

The fingers of her right hand tightened around her axe. Harmony concentrated as she clenched, taking note of how her muscles coiled and tendons strained. Keeping herself taut, she moved through the action of her swing slowly. Back. Bicep. Forearm. Wrist. Piecing together her reach and limits. Once she felt more acquainted with herself she did just as Legion had suggested, bringing her weapon down from its overhead position with as much strength as she could, then arresting the momentum. Harmony almost ended her second attempt at using her weapon in the dirt too. However, her third was a bit better. And so was the fourth. So on until she reached for the point of control that Legion spoke of.

_I deny doubt. I reject doubt. It has no place in my heart. It has no hold on me. _

Hardening her resolve, seizing upon the desire to strike, she swung her axe again. Ivory hit Legion's shield dead center, and Harmony could not have faked her smile even if she had wanted to. Her sparring partner moved his round shield, encouraging her to continue, stepping to make her move to keep up. With every strike, Harmony's confidence grew. Muscles that she had both never used and trained relentlessly remembered themselves. Her game time in YGGDRASIL near the end had gone a fair measure beyond ten-thousand hours in total.

Muscle memory was there, embedded and begging for release. Bone wrapped in tendon and sinew, red fibers rich with blood and nerve that were hers to command. They just needed to be reminded. YGGDRASIL could not hijack control of a player's avatar. There were movement assistance in many ways, yet if one truly wanted to be a contender in the world of melee abilities, a player had to physically perform the action necessary for the skill to activate.

"C'mon, Legion, it's not very good practice if I'm the only one attacking." Harmony insisted after a few minutes, having at least found her footing.

"Ha! Right you are, Lady."

Legion came low with a sweep. Harmony moved her feet, dodging outside the arc of his swing, then jumped back with both weapons raised overhand. Ebony and Ivory glowed as Double Strike activated. A triumphant gong echoed off the hills as Legion lifted his shield to take the hit. The blades of her weapons made solid contact. Ebony and Ivory buzzed in Harmony's hands in the wake of her blow. On each wrist, a golden bracelet of [Fury Plates] shined.

Naturally, Legion celebrated her success before she could. He turned in a circle, raising his axe towards the eager Silver Knights.

"Behold the might of our Creator! Hear how her strength is so like music!"

Claps, whistles, and hoots of encouragement poured from the eager onlookers while Crisis gave her a thumbs up.

"Come, come, my great maker. I know there's more in you than that!" Legion knocked the flat blade of his larger axe against his even heavier shield.

Moves Harmony had not used in years came back one after another. Sometimes it seemed like her body knew better than she did, chaining her strikes together, smoothly flowing from one attack to another. Shifting her stance as she did so. Never letting up. Of the three members of Black Sky, Harmony was no slouch when it came to builds either. And it was not just the dual-wielding perks that had drawn her to Wyvern Berserker. Only available certain races, the class boasted a very unique way of tanking. Each successful blow resulted in stacks of the unusual [Fury Plates] buff.

The faster she attacked, the stronger her defenses became. Of course it was not without risk. [Fury Plates] had a limited duration, and if Harmony missed, the stacks would decrease accordingly. She was aided by her Crucible ring, an item meant to double up very select armor skills. Due to the Crucible ring's wording, its effects extended to the [Fury Plates] passive. Being incredibly broken and a blatant exploit of a loophole, it let her compete with the really stupidly cheesy tactics that plagued YGGDRASIL's player versus player scenarios. A more cumulative secret of her build resided within her Scalebound racials, but she would get to that once she had a firmer grasp on the basics once more.

Scintillating armored bracelets crawled up her forearms as her defenses grew stronger.

Legion brought his rear leg forward, using the turn of his body to add momentum as he propelled his axe down. The angle of the attack would have made it awkward to block, so Harmony side stepped out of the way. Faster than his bulk should have allowed, Legion used the motion of his axe to transition into a forward step and brought the broad face of his shield squarely into her. Instinctively, she crossed her arms in front of herself. Her vambraces slapped against her chest as the shield bash sent her boots skidding back in the dirt. She almost remained upright, but at the end of her slide she lost her balance and ended up with her butt on the ground once again.

Instead of just standing back up, Harmony got her feet underneath herself and shot forward. Ebony and Ivory rang out. Metallic peals of increasing frequency and intensity heralded the growing storm of their duel. She knew Legion was holding back. His blows thus far had been with exaggerated slowness. Forcing herself to push through the unfamiliarity, the newness, the hesitation, Harmony probed around, below, and above the steel wall she had come against. Ratcheting her limbs under greater tension, the Wyvern Berserker trusted herself with more and more strength.

In retaliation, Legion brought his axe straight down in a cleaving blow. The weight of the strike was apparent in the contortion of the Warpriest's plates. Knowing the avatar she inhabited was strong was one thing. Actually taking and repelling a heavy blow from Legion was another. Harmony had no idea how much actual momentum she was going to try and stop. Based on what she knew of normal humans in the world, she had no doubt that her old self attempting the same would have had a result similar to a fly trying to defeat a windshield.

There was no time to think. Only act.

Harmony crossed Ebony and Ivory above her and caught the descending weapon in the crook formed by her own. As soon as the edges made contact, a shockwave rippled out from the point, flattening grass and buffeting the Silver Knights. It was the first time the business ends of both warrior's tools hit each other. Legion nearly lost his grip as his weapon rebounded off the monochrome axes as though he had been kicked by Sleipnir himself. The Warpriest shuddered as his chest and arm buzzing from the kinetic energy passing through him.

"How cunning! A [Force] enchantment, Lady Harmony? Your skill as a creator finds its way into every battle! How could any foe ever measure up to such ingenuity?"

Harmony blushed and hid the shame at what she felt as unwarranted praise by giving Ebony and Ivory a whirl. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had made them. They were the first items she had crafted with the bonuses offered by the Forgemother and had served her faithfully for years.

"C'mon, Legion, don't leave me hanging." The Wyvern Berserker quickly diverted attention back to their sparring.

At last in the tempo of the match, Harmony began one of her longer combos. Her stance turned, pulling her left foot back, keeping a high guard. She began, slashing vertically down with her forward weapon. To the Silver Knights the sound of axe on shield was like music. After that blow she twisted her body, spinning around to hit first with her left axe, then her right. One. One-two. Even if the Warpriest wished to counter at the Wyvern Berserker's exposed back, her ability activating made her accelerate too quickly. Another spin, this time with both axes coming together to strike at the same time. Just as she executed her final spin, the edges of her blades began to glow, leaving behind a streak of light in the wake of their passage.

Whirling Strike.

Unprepared for just how much punch his Lady had, Legion was sent flying up the hill through the crowd of Silver Knights. A proud red plume quickly reappeared over the crest of the hill as the Guardians returned. His soldiers slapped him on the back and arms in congratulation.

"Oh my goodness, Legion, I'm so sorry!"

"Ha! Ha! Why would you ever be sorry my lady! What a magnificent strike! This is the language of warriors, and it is my greatest honor to share even a singly blow with the great Queen Harmony! The Aegis of Muspelheim herself."

They squared up again. Although it would end up being her peak as the tide of the match turned. The sudden success had her second guessing herself as Legion seemed a lot faster than Harmony remembered. It was not that she was slow. Far from it. The tricky part on her side was she often over-compensated. She would move too soon, missing her counter attack and getting demolished by Legion's follow up. Then she would try and time herself slower and end up dodging too late.

Consequently, the problem was that the

With shield and axe, Legion controlled her center line, forcing her to move where he wanted and gradually wearing down her defenses.

[Fury Plates] dissolved under each successive hit by Legion, and each poor retort with Ebony and Ivory.

In a calculated move, Legion focused more on dodging Harmony's attacks and only used his axe when there was a solid opening. Normally, Harmony would cast pyromancy spells to keep pressure on her opponent and thereby keep her [Fury Plates] topped up. Guilt at possibly hurting her creation kept her from doing so. She tried to remember the last time she had faced such an intelligent opponent.

Harmony grew frustrated, then took a silly risk as her last [Fury Plates] shattered. Legion came in low, just like the sweep she had dodged earlier. This time she went in, hopping over the larger axe. Legion pulled his weapon tightly in to increase the speed of his turn and brought the edge of his shield slamming into Harmony's stomach. Grand Alliance mitigated much of the damage. However, Harmony still was body-checked mid air by an oncoming train. So after she fell into an undignified heap, she got up with a groan and a distinct ache.

"Lady Harmony, I thought... I thought you would dodge and I..." Poor Legion was nearly beside himself as he rushed to her side and helped his Fair Lady to her feet.

"Oh, Legion, you're fine. That was a good hit. I had forgotten about that move of yours. Let me cast something I should have before we started." She downplayed the hit, and while her armor had protected her, the plate rubbing against bruised midriff let her know the degree of blunt trauma she had received.

"[Crown Of Ishkala]."

Upon use, a crown of ivory antlers with golden cracks manifested, the circular talisman hovering between Harmony's horns. Crimson drops of blood purled up the branches and dripped upwards into the sky to evaporate. She took a moment to catch her wind back as the regenerative spell did its work and the pain receded.

Only unlocked by putting points into a healing class, the spell originated from her Scarlet Drake racial. According to the lore attached to the Tenth Tier spell, Ishkala was a dragon goddess of life and had been wedded to a human that had ascended to become the god of war. Just as most stories with deities involved, the war god was betrayed by his two jealous brothers, stabbed in the back by the very knife the man had used to claim godhood with even his name taken upon death.

Driven into an inconsolable rage in grief at the death of her husband, Ishkala had confronted the killers, goading them into slaying her with the dead war god's own blade. They obliged the widow's request and ran her through. Unbeknownst to the traitorous brothers, Ishkala's blood mixed with what still stained the blade. This perversion of war and nature ripped the life from the murderers. Vengeance was done, and at a terrible cost. The injury would be eternal. Ishkala's own power regenerated the wound just as her husband's essence kept it from ever closing. Tainted, the blood itself would try and escape her.

Irrevocably corrupted, the red goddess would walk the realms with her sanguine crown. Ever wounded. Eternally bleeding.

Harmony always loved that story. It reminded her of the game Echo of Damnation. There had been an alluringly indelible quality to the dark tone of the game. A captivating take on hopelessness that had never dulled Harmony to the silent character of the game, trudging on in the face of that melancholy towards an ultimate end that was never shown to the player. It was up to the individual to determine if their avatar made it to the light. The promised green country beyond all the grey.

Scarlet Drake's background texts and lore, with all the misery and woe, put Harmony at ease in much the same way. A cathartic escape from a poisoned world doing its best to snuff out her spirit. Her fire.

What the spell actually did was add a substantial pool of health that drip fed into her own as she took damage. Once the regeneration limit was reached the spell would dissipate though it had no set duration unlike most healing over time magic. Using instant healing spells was quite costly MP wise, so the longer Harmony got a fight to drag on, the better she fared. More than once she had overcome numerical odds because of her [Fury Plates] buying her enough time to use repeated castings of [Crown Of Ishkala], effectively multiplying the effective health of her avatar. Much like Legion, her physical damage output was rather abysmal comparatively. She was a front line tank first and foremost. Being Heteromorphic, it was easy to max out her base health and defense stats.

[Crown Of Ishkala]'s effect was laughable compared to [Ishkala's Blood Rain], but Super Tier was a bit overkill for a bruised stomach.

Breathing easier, Harmony hooked Ebony and Ivory on her belt.

"Thank you so much, Legion. That really helped me a lot. I think I'm still really out of practice though. I need to work on more technique. Need to remember." She had worked up a good sweat, and was expecting to be much more sore. Never in her human life had she fought so hard. Ever. Once, Lurk had convinced her to swing around some practice swords in their apartment. Although it had been fun, her arms and legs had burned for days afterward. Despite giving and recieving hits beyond mortal ken, her muscles were awake and ready for more. Some tenderness permeated her calves, yet nothing debilitating.

"Nonsense! You are the steel flower of The Citadel! The ever-burning flame. You are the best of us, Lady Harmony." Legion put away his weapons and bowed low in deference to his maker.

"You're sweet, Legion, but admit I am kind of rusty." Harmony twirled a lock of her crimson hair, tail curling dejectedly.

"Lady, you're as rusty as I am." He chuckled, and made her feel a little better.

A tap on Harmony's shoulder caused her to turn.

Crisis stood, his hands clasped together before him in hope, silently beseeching.

"Crisis! Hi, buddy, what is it?" Harmony felt guilty that he had just stood there watching her and Legion fight.

Crisis patted the blade sheathed on his hip, bowing his head and putting himself at her mercy. Even though Harmony wanted to stop and take a break after ending her bout in disappointment, she could not turn down the puppy dog eyes Crisis was giving her.

"I can't say no to that." She sighed, then gave a laugh and drew her weapons once more. Legion moved off to one side to give them space and cheer with the Silver Knights.

While his brother, Nox, could flit through darkness and shadow, Crisis had been made by Harmony to be a foil to that power. Master Fencer. Arch-Paladin. Seraph. Both brothers shared their Ashen Blood racial. Where Nox had been given the Abyssal side of the Ashen, Crisis was given the Celestial side. Individually, they were forces to be reckoned with. Complimentary builds that covered each other just as Lurk and Harmony did. Together through their racial, if either of them fell, they could become one. Corona Nox.

Harmony would be facing her half of the Guardian Overseer.

Crisis drew his longsword and toothed parrying dagger. As if he were winding a spring, Crisis moved with steady purpose, raising his blades into a hanging high guard. Harmony started slow, just as she had before, prowling the perimeter of the depression. Crisis did not.

His first strike came high and fast. So did the next one. And the one after. The clangs and [Force] augmented booms of their clash made it clear their engagement would be a much higher tempo.

A rhythm built between the two. Between creator and creation.

Whereas with Legion, Harmony had been the primary aggressor, here Crisis took the lead with his agility. He slowly probed Harmony's defenses, flicking his sword forward as would a serpent with its fangs. Ebony and Ivory were not always quick enough for her to deflect the attacks. Occasionally a playful jab would make it through, ringing against Grand Alliance. Crisis was not going to go on her as easily as Legion had. He knew what she needed.

Coming at her from different angles, he moved around her as he did so, forcing her to keep her feet shifting. Crisis came high, then low. Conserving her movement, Harmony used the power of Ebony and Ivory's force enchantment to buy herself space. Although far from common, [Force] was not the only weapon enhancement that existed and Harmony had made sure to set up the parrying dagger as off-hand defense to not activate often unfair powers. Harmony deflected a straight thrust of his longsword up, only for Crisis to lock her opposing axe with the sword-breaker teeth of his dagger while he shifted the grip of his longsword and brought the lower half of the blade hard into the gorget of Grand Alliance. A few of her [Fury Plates] shattered off her arm as Crisis retreated just as quickly before she could retaliate.

"Remind me not to underestimate you." Harmony concluded with a fierce grin. Sparring with Legion had made her feel uncontrollably fast. Now with Crisis, she was struggling to keep up. As a Crusader and Shield Lord, Legion was a metal mountain, an avalanche of axe and shield that seemed slow at a distance until one was swept up by its weight and breadth. Although strong, thunder was always slower than lightning.

Without words to answer, Crisis gave a sincere and honest bow at his Lady's praise.

Gradually, not just combos, but stances returned to Harmony as well. Crisis continued his steady pace and his constant probing of Harmony's defenses made her remember where and how to hold Ebony and Ivory. She had to pull up her big girl panties and strap on her tryhard boots that brought her back to those frenetic days of nonstop combat. If Harmony wanted to play YGGDRASIL to its fullest, she had to deal with all the good and bad that went along with the one of a kind game.

True to form, Crisis demonstrated a mastery of parry and riposte. Harmony could not just chop away with her axes and hope for the best. She had to choose her moments, lest she overreach and be punished handily for it. Even with all that preparation, she still had to contend with the Seraph's own trademark passive. With a feint of her own, the Wyvern Berserker got through Crisis' guard and rammed into a glittering sword of white glass that stopped her short of her target. The extra blade cracked and shattered in a brilliant display accompanied by a melodious chime.

If Legion was a reflection of Harmony's early game skills, then Crisis mirrored her later choices.

[Swordsnare] was a more active defensive skill than [Fury Plates] was, and worked as an arguably more valuable damage mitigation rather than just defensive points to burn.

Crisis jabbed low, then mid, and when his arm gave away his intent to go high, Harmony moved her weapons up only for Crisis to feint his attack. The tip of his blade rapped against her tasset three times before she bring an axe low enough to fend him off. Intelligence had graced an already formidable NPC with the intuition and planning to match any human. However, the Wyvern Berserker was not without her tricks. She had spent her fair share of time in the dueling arenas of Midgard. Adaptation helped separate the warriors from the chaff.

Harmony bided her time, building up her stacks of [Fury Plates] and presenting an opening to draw Crisis in. He would take the bait offered and Harmony would punish him in response, receiving a blow on her regenerating armor to deal one of her own even if it ultimately resulted in being stalled by [Swordsnare]. It reminded her to be patient under pressure. Wyvern Berserker was not about blind aggression. Though many short-sighted players had lamented the uselessness of a class they did not understand on online forums. So many that could not understand that Wyvern Berserker was meant as a stepping stone to other abilities.

After one especially fearsome clash that saw Ebony and Ivory cleaving through the white glass of [Swordsnare], Harmony's wrists flashed and her [Fury Plates] turned red.

Breaking away for a moment, Harmony stopped to consider whether she should or not...

"Fuck it." She mumbled half a second later. "Hey, Crisis, do you mind if I do something real fast?"

Emphatically, her Guardian bobbed his head, excited to see what his Lady was going to do.

While technically considered a different slot, the gauntlets of her Grand Alliance ensemble were one of many items enchanted to speed up charging her Scalebound ability. [Fury Plates] had a stack limit. Once reached, her gauntlets would pull that otherwise wasted potential into energizing the core power of that racial. Reaching inside, Harmony hovered between excitement and trepidation. Inside that fiery core of her being, a dragon stirred. All it needed was the right words.

"[Apex Shift]."

Its limbs unfurled to encompass her own. To bind her in scales, give her the breath of true life, and wrap her in a dragon's embrace.

Harmony was enveloped in a glow for less than a blink before her Scalebound armor was revealed. There was no lengthy transformation needed or specifically, any period of vulnerability. One of many reasons Harmony liked it. Not much of a battle skill if it took as long as a Super Tier spell to use after all. She stood as a weapon of war, head to tail in sleek crimson armor. Distinctly organic looking, [Apex Shit] subsumed Grand Alliance, building protection on top of her Divine gear.

A helmet wrought into a draconic muzzle made her visage reflect her true aspect while framing the red slits of her eyes. Her hair spilled out of the back of the helmet in a cascade of crimson. The [Crown of Ishkala] hovered between horns that turned as red as the blood from the crown. Her tail grew longer, thicker, and terminated in a blade with a wicked inward curve. When not in use, her wings doubled as extra armor. They could not be fully retracted as she could in her normal form. Instead the segmented panels draped about her like a cloak, thumbs locked together below her throat.

Harmony cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, then twirled her axes. She felt her armor as her skin, moving and stretching with her. Flexible hide under ripples of scale and bone as hard as any Relic Iron or Darksteel. Static charge rippled down her limbs in waves of visible red current traveling between raised segments of the armor.

After the transition to the new world, she lacked context. Initially her new body had felt just like her old. At least on the surface. Sure, her senses were sharper, but she had at least grown familiar with the proportions of her avatar after spending twelve years on and off inside the digital manifestation. Then she began to understand the scope of what she had become. If before she was behind the controls of a fighter jet, now she hand her hands on the flight stick of an SR-71 Blackbird. Even then, the comparison was hardly fair.

"I hope you're ready, Crisis." A rumbling like a furnace undercut her voice. So energized she was fit to burst, Harmony was glad of both her warmup with Legion and the open space provided by the third floor. She raised Ebony and Ivory as her tail carved furrows in the ground.

Crisis spoke louder with his actions than he ever could with words.

His sword came straight across, chopping towards Harmony's middle with blistering speed. Even as her mind recognized how much her Guardian must had been holding back, her body moved in response. In a reverse stoke of Ebony and Ivory she caught the blade with the spike of her axes. Unable to overcome the strength of the lock, Crisis lunged forward with his parrying dagger only to have his wrist caught. Harmony had released her hold on one of her weapons to grab the incoming counter. Ivory scraped against the longsword as Ebony hung on by the hook of its edge. Using her greater strength, she flung the Seraph over her shoulder with the warrior skill Hip Throw. Her loose axe was flung high.

Harmony leaped before Crisis had even landed, grabbing Ebony mid-air as she did so to bring both of her axes down towards Crisis in a Leaping Strike.

The Fencing Master in Crisis would not be so easily defeated. He was already up, slashing at an angle that forced Harmony to abandon her leap and smack away his sword lest she take the blow directly. Divine Class items, especially weapons, always rang out with such defined clarity. With the temporary strength and agility boost provided by [Apex Shift], she could keep up with Crisis and then some. Harmony did not let the quick counter dissuade her, altering the vector of her assault by using the built in [Flash Step] in her armor. She appeared behind the Seraph and only his [Swordsnare] kept him from taking an axe to the back of his own armor.

One strategy she had developed for fighting other melee users was to charge up her [Apex Shift], exhaust all the special mana reserves for the unique abilities she could only use in that form as quickly as she could. Because if she reverted, then charged up [Apex Shit] again, it would refresh all of the temporary mana. However this was not the time to be unleashing an unhealthy amount of [Banefire]. This contest was about physical skill, not actually killing each other. So the innate bonuses to strength and speed were more than enough.

The pace of their sparring match increased accordingly.

It was her turn to go on the offensive, shifting the tides and raining down blow after blow. This was her. This was who Harmony had become. And always was too. The warrior queen. Moving. Leaping. Striking. Chaining together abilities and combos. Acting as a pivot upon which the battle balanced at her behest.

Crisis broke away to gain some space and Harmony did not immediately pursue. She adjusted her stance. Left foot forward, and her left axe held downward in line with her leg. Then she moved her opposite axe into a hanging right hold. Harmony wanted to second guess herself, but she pushed away the doubt and let her muscle memory settle her into just the right pose. With the stance held, it took just under one second for the ephemeral red tracing of Zeal to form around her weapons. Then all she had to do was let go.

Because of the speed imparted by her Heteromorphic racial form along with the agility boost provided by Zeal, afterimages of her arms were burned in the air as the Wyvern Berserker ability let her land six strikes as fast as she would execute two.

To his credit, Crisis parried two axe swings before his longsword was deflected too far by [Force] from him to effectively bring it to bear. [Swordsnare] manifested in a further three glass swords appearing and breaking into pieces. Despite his effort and abilities, the sixth hit made it through, nailing Crisis in the side of the head. His helmet took most of the impact but was knocked off. He had to roll with the blow, letting momentum carry him to the ground then correcting his backward tumble to stand back up.

Crisis snapped his gaze forward, holding his sword and dagger at the ready.

Even as he made ready for his Lady's next attack, he watched her Scalebound armor evaporate. Harmony hooked Ebony and Ivory on her belt and trotted forward to his aid.

"Crisis, are you okay? I'm so sorry, I didn't think I would hit you that hard." She looked him over and reached up to touch near the small gash below his temple. [Warmth] from her racials was enough to heal the minuscule scratch she had inflicted on her Guardian. She now understand how bad Legion felt from injuring her. Although he had no voice to speak, Crisis sheathed his blades, put his fingers near his lips and extended a flat palm in her direction which included a smile that put a gleam in his eyes. He laid his soul bare for her, to tell her that not having a voice was not an inconvenience for him because there were not enough words to express his devotion.

A bit overwhelmed and at a loss for words herself, Harmony bent down and retrieved Crisis' helmet. She fixed the pointed helm like a mother hen preening her chick. She took a step back to make sure it was on his head straight then lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Funnily enough, the Scarlet Dragoness was actually just a hair taller than the Guardian. Crisis was momentarily staggered by his Lady's strength, yet managed to keep his feet.

"Thank you, Crisis." She hummed as he hugged her back.

A boisterous suit of Living Armor somersaulted down the hill before grabbing up Crisis and Harmony into a metal embrace that easily engulfed them both.

"Haha! Yes! I love hugging!" Legion shouted over the applause of the Silver Knights at witnessing the might of the mythical Lady Harmony herself. "You two were magnificent! Thank you, Crisis for your assistance. I know you feel as I do. Honored to have been made by the greatest warrior to have ever lived!"

Harmony shrieked with laughter as Legion swung her and Crisis around like they were toys. An epiphany alighted within her heart in that moment as a dove would a branch.

Family.

Back in the old world, Lurk and Woodsolution had been her only family. The one she had chosen. Then and there, she realized that the most wonderful thing about coming to the new world was not the magic or flying. Those were nice, to be sure. Now she had a new family. One that knew only unconditional love, loyalty, and devotion. She was convinced of the rightness of staying that final day when the servers went down. Once the old world died, her duty became to be there for the new life within The Citadel.

After some convincing, Legion put Crisis and Harmony down. Although she had intended on having a bath after her practice, Harmony's adrenaline still surged. With the taste of [Apex Shift] still tingling on the tip of her tongue, she was ready for more. Instead of concluding her session on the third floor, Harmony considered what else her duty might demand of her.

So amid much excited talk and a massive crowd of Silver Knights that trailed after them, Harmony went to her own version of a shooting range.

In an area that had long been burned clean of grass, several large standing stones bore the scorch marks of pyromancy past. Harmony had to have somewhere to test her spells after all. She had stretched her legs with physical skills. Now it was the time for her true strength to shine. High Priestess. Wyvern Berserker. Slayer. Scalebound. Now it was time for the Scarlet Drake and Aegis of Muspelheim to take center stage as she took up position at a safe distance from her targets. Behind her, the whole of the third floor waited for their Lady to bare the soul of their homeland.

Magic had come far more naturally to the Queen of Black Sky than swinging around an axe. When she had asked Lurk about his, he had described his magic as potential. Bullets loaded in a magazine. Powder waiting to be ignited. Detonating cord ready to be measured. Clockwork logic to spend towards desired outcomes and other esoteric, difficult to follow talk from her forgets-to-use-smaller-words-for-his-sometimes-derpy-wife husband.

Hers was a flame. It had always been flame. Fire. Life of the heart. Kindling for the soul. In almost every game she played, Harmony pursued flame. Pyromancy. Flamethrowers. Molotovs. Firebombs. YGGDRASIL had put fire at her fingertips. Harmony took a deep breath and felt the flame breathe with her. Lighter than air. Warm. What was once a button and some pretty lights was thought and desire that manifested into heat. If she concentrated, a smoldering core lived in her chest in time with the beat of her own heart.

Reaching into that center, she pulled out the sun.

Harmony started with the simplest spell imaginable. First Tier. The lowest of the low. The stuff of every child's wizarding fantasy. Every pyromancer began in the same place. A spell as timeless as man's fascination with fire itself.

"[Fireball]."

In Harmony's hands, the spell was anything but simple. Flexing her slim draconic fingers around the raw orb of flame, Harmony wondered if it would hurt her without fire immunity. Burning liquid dripped between her red and gold scaled digits. The spell was essentially weightless in her palm, being more energy so dense it coalesced into liquid flame. When she clutched it tightly, there was solidity beneath its surface. Cocking her arm back as if about to pitch a baseball, she lined up her shot with the closest standing stone. She did not have to be a good throw either. Once it left her palm, the gesture of the toss was enough to send the [Fireball] towards her chosen target.

Just before impact, the projectile detonated in a spectacular diffusive explosion. The solid whump was a deeply gratifying accompaniment. Molten flame splattered all over the stone monolith as only the surface fuel of the spell had been bled off by its ignition. As the standing stone kept burning, Harmony's heart fluttered with a dangerously enticing thrill. She knew that fire behaved differently from the game. That much was already clear. Being the one to start it gave the pyromaniac in her way too many ideas.

She lobbed a few more, [Fireball] nearly being free for her to cast. Aegis of Muspelheim gave her pyromancy the molten effects, but the Ebonheart ring made the standing stones burn and burn and burn. Damage over time meant little if the duration was worth the price of ignition. Flashing with the fire spreading nearby, the rings snagged her attention. Lurk had not been the only one to farm Heart of Muspelheim raid for a specific item, with the rough cut obsidian Ebonheart ring resting between Wreathfire and Crucible as proof of that. Harmony held up her hands to admire the burning stones between splayed fingers with the glittering precious metals and enchanted jewels framing the bonfire.

Just as Lurk did, Harmony wore the Temporal ring for protection against time magic. Hydra for immunity against instant death. And rather than a Soulbound, she just had an insurance ring to make it so if she died in the game world she would lose nothing of value. Those were her six rings formed the basic loadout that she kept equipped at all times. The other four fingers she left open for different scenarios. During an event in the twilight years of the game, she had won a large pack of the cash shop item which let avatars exceed the default ring limits and had indulged herself with item combinations.

Watching her targets burn made Harmony realize why Lurk spent so much leisure time in his shooting range. Getting into that old mindset was painfully easy. Assess, and attack.

"[Rebuke]."

Power with a word and a gesture. One standing stone, still burning, had its upper half pulverized into chunks of stone shrapnel. Completely invisible and instantaneous, the spell was the ranged version of [Force]. Little direct damage, especially to higher level entities, yet the stun it inflicted was far too good for such a quick cast.

"[Cindervines]."

The roots of the shattered World Tree that ran through Muspelheim answered the call of its protectors. Ever-burning, the roots groaned, the splits in the wood glowing from inner fire as they constricted another monolith and crumbled it to rubble.

"[Magma Spear]."

Harmony commanded the blood of goddesses and the earth. Melted stone which flowed in rivers through the veins of the worlds punctured through the ground and bored holes through the standing stones before falling away.

"[Lava Axe]."

One of her most visually impressive Ninth Tier, the spell acted exactly as one would expect. An axe of exaggerated size manifested out of the fires still burning. Its surface ebbed and flowed with all the dangerously enticing beauty that real lava possessed. Again with terrible ease, Harmony made reality bend to her will, targeting the largest monolith still standing. The standing stone in question was split down the middle, its bisected halves falling away with the core of the monument resembling smooth glass from the heat imparted by the cut.

Of the many spells in her repertoire, these were some of her favorites. Ones she had always had on her quick select bar. Especially spells that helped control or corral her opponent. What they also did was help to extend her [Fury Plates]. Even her pyromancy was full of spells that served towards the Wyvern Berserker ability. A hit with [Lava Axe], [Cindervines], or [Magma Spear] gave her just as many stacks of protection as a full melee combo did.

"Go on, Lady Harmony! Give us another!" Nearly bouncing, Legion shouted encouragement that was soon echoed by the Silver Knights.

Despite Harmony's smile and wave being sheepish, she could not well begin a show and not have a finale. Exploring her magic reminded her that there was a higher order.

Super Tier.

Stepping eagerly, the Scarlet Dragoness sprinted slowly down to the blackened edge of the area where the standing stones were re-forming themselves so they could be used again. Up close they were much larger, only pouring more gasoline on her urge to see them truly burn.

A few drops of trepidation gave her pause until they evaporated before

"[Creation Began With Flame]."

Glyphs rose from the ground around her feet, said to be the old bindings of the original flame. They sprouted, then themselves burned. Unraveling symbols rose from the pyre of the greater wards that were blackened and charred as flakes of ash. She let the summoning run its course, until a modest blaze flowered into existence before the Aegis of Muspelheim. It did not burn with yellow, or even blue. Its glow was pure white, leeching the color from all the surroundings. It hovered just out of reach as it grew larger, shedding sparks which lazily floated down like drifting flakes of snow hot enough to burn the world.

The intensity of the light bleaching her surroundings made the other fires from her earlier spell seem dim as a starless midnight. Color so raw that even Legion had to shield the eye slit of his helmet. Only Crisis was bright enough on his own to look directly at his Lady's radiance.

From Harmony's open hand, a small arcane circle appeared, then zipped up to wrap around the growing fragment of creation. As soon as the band was in place, the magic crushed it tight, compacting the unruly plasma with additional bands until the whole thing more resembled an aperture of a celestial body. Etheric flame bloomed in fits and starts beyond the bounds of its containment, but for the most part stabilized into a palm sized package.

As far as Super Tier was concerned, the casting time was quite short. Little over twenty seconds. Twenty-two, in fact, as Harmony counted. Within the context of the dizzying heights of that Tier, [Creation Began With Flame] was simple in effect too. Rather than some of the truly bombastic pyromancy associated with Super Tier, all it did was enhance the next fire spell or ability used. Only more Super Tier was off limits to the effect. After long and arduous testing and experimentation, Harmony had come to the conclusion that the one shot buff was only worth using on one specific thing.

Aegis Of Muspelheim's penultimate class ability.

"[Scorched Earth]."

For a moment there was dark as the white-hot light of creation went out. Until Harmony began to glow in its place. Every blade of grass within a dozen feet of her that had survived until that point dissolved into powdered ash. The ground cracked under her, buckling beneath the weight and heat. The surfaces of the standing stones within the radius of her class ability started to glow with heat and soon ran like hot wax. Sharp cracks resounded as the stones bowed and their structure buckled, the softened sides unable to support the mass of the monoliths above. As they fell, those that came into contact with the boundary of Harmony's domain fully melted. Though not a drop of molten rock touched her, sloughing off like summer rain.

Silver Knights whispered in awe, honored that they were there to witness their Lady's fire. In years past, some had seen her use the ability once during her tests. They told their shield brothers how any foe who did not had perfect resistance to fire would burn to cinder just by Queen Harmony's presence alone. Poison resistance was one of the most common. Fire resistance was a close second. But fire immunity? Nearly unheard of.

Augmenting her class ability with Super Tier took setup that was usually untenable in a duel. Opportunity to use the combination on other players had only come up under quite specific circumstances. And each time Lurk and Woodsolution had been glad to have been on Harmony's side. Its power had been what inspired Lurk to design the defense mechanism of the treasury.

As easy to dismiss as it was to call upon, Harmony ended her buffs and turned her arms over, marveling at how Grand Alliance remained untouched by her power. Content that her practice had been both worthwhile and fruitful, she trotted up the hill to talk with Legion more.

However there was one slight problem.

Just because she could not be hurt by fire, did not mean she was immune to sweating. More due to her exertions raising her temperature than the pyromancy. As she moved and shifted a bit, feeling tracks of liquid trickle down her back and her undergarments mushed against intimate areas in a way that told her it was time for a bath.

***BSL***

Gloriously, splendidly, wonderfully detached from all worldly concerns, Harmony floated languidly along in one of The Citadels smaller, but no less impressive baths.

More like an Olympic pool sized hot tub, wisps of steam flowed across the surface of the water. After washing away the worst of the grime and caked on salt from dried layers of sweat, Harmony swam on her back to relax. Bubbles drifted around her from where she had lathered herself with a bar of lavender soap and sandalwood oil.

Idly, her hand traced down her stomach, entranced by how relaxed and loose she felt, her fingers idly played with the scales peppering her southerly regions. Pulling her tightly folded petals to one side, she moaned as the warm water kissed her nethers. From the elbow down, she resembled Lurk in his more draconic aspect. Smooth scales adorned the back of her hands and forearm, with most of the rest being red hued hide. Unlike Lurk, she was not hindered by sharp claws and finger pads. Hers just looked sharp, yet good thing for her flower, were not in danger of damaging anything.

Dipping two fingers into the channel of her sex, she was greeted by a salacious amount of lubrication. Sliding down between the lips, her tunnel tried to suck her fingers right in as wetness poured from her honeypot. Other than regularly soaked panties whenever Lurk teased her, Harmony had yet to encounter any annoyances from getting so aroused so easily. Maybe the gold rings and rubies dangling from her breasts were in flavor text about her racial she did not remember. Having such an erotic body definitely had its perks.

When they had woken up that morning, Harmony had bent over for Lurk's plowing pleasure. As he more often than not did when mounting her, he rubbed her sensitive tailhole, making her shiver and clench while he slammed the far wall of her sex.

Already indulging herself in a bit of decadent deviance, Harmony decided to do the same in the bath. Her tail stiffened as she reached her other hand around the base of her extra appendage. Just running the tip of her finger around the guarded hole sent jolts to the rest of her feminine core. So acutely pleasurable it almost hurt, she slicked her two fingers up and down the length of her puffy slit before settling on her nub. Harmony pulled back her hood and set the bundle of nerves carefully between her digits.

Rubbing herself on both sides made her scaly toes clench and her abdomen grew tighter. Tail shivering, Harmony spread her legs and pushed herder with her fingers. Normally she was reserved, climaxing in demure, ladylike ways. Nope, not this time. She was by herself so could wreck her delicates if she damn well pleased. Which is precisely what she did, pushing hard as she came and letting out a healthy deluge of aureate cum. Clenching her eyes shut and bucking her hips, Harmony rode out the waves of pleasure as release crashed through her. Gradually her pussy eased down from her climax, still occasionally twitching and leaking, staining her fingers. Need pulsed through her, making her spine tingle in the come down. Though she was only left partially satisfied, her butt yearning for something preferably thick and male buried in it.

Although playing with herself had been a fun distraction, it was time to get out.

Attention to detail when it came to authentic recreation meant there was a small rinsing bath of slightly cooler water just a step away from the main pool.

Even while rinsing and cooling off Harmony still felt a bit amorous. Twisting tendrils of desire wound their way up her thighs and down her stomach to sit heavily in that heavenly knot of libido and hormones that was her scaly womb. Getting herself off had been a nice exercise in relaxation after her actual exercise with Crisis and Legion. However, what she really wanted was a nice hard cock filling her. Just the idea of Lurk breathing heavily in her ear while his manhood stretched her womanly depths was enough to make Harmony's golden dew bead up along her slit.

Since Lurk was a hot-blooded male, all she really had to do was wear something revealing and flag her tail. Hell, sometimes just blowing warm air across his neck was enough to provoke him. There were times Harmony did this even if she herself was not horny. She just enjoyed being desired. And how he desired her. The craving in her chalice moved up to warm her heart as well. Wringing the water out of her hair, Harmony contemplated what she could do that would be special. On one hand, she was fairly certain that Lurk would be happy with any measure of surprise sex. On the other, she wanted to know what would really get him going. Hit just those right buttons.

Stepping out of the rinsing pool, Harmony plucked a fresh cotton towel from a nearby tray and began to towel off while her passive heat dried her voluminous hair.

So how to decide? Well, her experiences with Legion and Crisis had given her further insight into how the temperament of the creator affected the inhabitants of The Citadel. Tastes and humor had been imprinted in one way or another. So then, she wondered if the maids knew what Lurk would enjoy since they were mostly created by him? It was worth a shot. At least she could get a second opinion and maybe a little ego stroking.

"Is anybody there?" Harmony called out. As she had quickly discovered in The Citadel, there was always one of the Lamias waiting outside whatever bath she chose.

Quick as a flash, not one but three of the maids slithered into view. They approached to within a respectful distance and bowed.

"You called, great Lady of The Citadel? What service do you require?" Implored the middle one.

"I'm not taking you three away from anything, am I?" Harmony quietly admired the striking color palettes of the three. One was a shimmering green, the second had mostly white scales with pink rose speckles, while the third bore a remarkable black and orange piebald pattern.

The maids all gasped at the thought.

"Never, Fair Lady! We were just finishing with our cleaning duties before heading off to practice." The middle of the trio did not have visible piercings like the other two. Instead, colorful floral tattoos wrapped her arms from fingertip to shoulder.

"Practice?"

"Terribly sorry once more, Fair Lady. We're the musicians for the throne room. I'm Flora! I play the piano!"

"It is a great honor, Madame, I am Citrouille. I am the harper of our group. But-but-but! My friends call me Pumpkin!" Stammered the black and orange piebald Lamia. Citrouille had longer ears and a trio of hoops through her lower lip.

"Hm," Harmony pondered Citrouille for a moment. "Haven't I seen you with Nox once or twice?" Harmony thought the pibald Lamia seemed familiar. She remembered how cute snakebite lip rings were on a Lamia.

Citrouille's face went bright cherry red at the mention of Nox. Flora snagged the tip of her sister's long ear and spoke teasingly close enough for her breath to tickle Citrouille's nape.

"Puuumpkin, Lady Harmony no doubt knows all about your salacious affairs with our High Lord's shadow. I watched him pull down your top the last time." Flora slipped two fingers down the front of her sister's uniform and almost popped Citrouelle's breasts out before the pibald Lamia swatted Flora away.

"I refuse to speak of that-" Citrouille's speech devolved into a stream of french expletives. "I have caught that charlatan 'fooling around' with miss Silkeena, a Corsair, three Demi-Claws at the same time, and at least two of the Arboretum Nymphs. And probably more!"

Last of the bunch, the tan speckled Lamia peaked through a curtain of blonde hair.

"I'm... Uh... My name-I mean... I'm Cream. I play the cello. I'm sorry, you're just so beautiful, Fair Lady. I've always dreamed of seeing you. Not... Just in a towel, but, I mean! Not that I wouldn't mind seeing you naked I-I-I just... Always saw you... From... Afar." Cream's voice was softer than goose down and sweeter than Forbidden Honey.

Inadvertently, Harmony glanced down at Cream's chest. She had the largest bust of all four of them and it made her wonder how many of the Lamia's names and appearances were randomized and how much was purposeful on Lurk's part. Or in the case of Cream and Pumpkin, if he had just been hungry at the time. Likely the extra detail came from them being the musicians for the throne room.

"Cream, you're lucky the cooks don't use you instead of condensed milk because of how sweet you can be." Flora giggled.

"So, girls, I need your help with something, if you don't mind. I want to surprise Lurk with something sexy. Really I just need a second opinion on some outfits I bought in Kadusia." Harmony had thoroughly dried off, so dropped her towel. She was given over to being coy or bashful around Lurk, but had few qualms about nudity in front of other women. Reaching into her inventory, she pulled out sets of underwear.

"My Lady, can I ask something?" Poor Flora's ears were flushed with heat. Her expression puckered as if she had just bitten into a raw lemon.

"Of course." Harmony beamed.

"Do your piercings make your breasts too sensitive sometimes?" The maid in question pulled down the front of her uniform. Adorning the smallest bosom of the trio, silver barbells held the Lamia's buds snug.

"Those are so cute!" Harmony exclaimed. She looked down at herself, lifting her bosom and lightly tugging on the rubies dangling from the rings. "Should I do something different? I never knew I would like these, but Lurk absolutely loves them. Sometimes it's a bit too much when Lurk touches them, which is all the time. But I don't dislike it."

"Men and boys are all the same. Give them something to play with and they turn into putty." Noted Citrouille. Harmony and the girls all laughed at the truth of it.

"But what should I use? I like those barbells." Tapping her foot in contemplation, Harmony did not think she had anything else. Without question, Flora reached to pull out her own before Harmony stopped her.

"No, no, no! You don't have to do that. I don't want yours, silly. My goodness."

"I think gold is best suited to you, Lady Harmony. I might have just the thing." Flora produced a pair of barbells with wrought golden roses on either side. They were small so they would frame Harmony's buds rather than overshadow them, like complimentary jewels to the centerpiece of a ring.

"Those are perfect!" Harmony's tail swished behind her. Though as soon as she took them and looked down at herself, she had second thoughts. Could she just use magic to equip them? What if they did not fit right? Her poor nipples nearly shriveled at the thought.

"So, could one of you maybe help me with these? Magic is different in this world, so I don't want to accidentally do something wrong with my boobs."

"It would be my honor, Lady Harmony! I help the others with their own from time to time."

Flora worked quickly, her touch was gentle as could be. Harmony shivered when the golden hoops were pulled free and gooseflesh broke out over her breasts at the strange empty feeling before dainty fingers slipped the barbells into place and screwed the roses together on either side. Flora slithered back to admire her work and the three maids all cooed at the beauty of their Fair Lady.

"Since... We... Um, I mean... Since we're asking... Can I ask you something, Fair Lady?" With a mouse squeak of shyness, Cream buried her face in her hands. Lurk's traits had definitely made their way into this one whether he knew it or not. He used the same tone and manners whenever Harmony teased him about sex. The virile male could tease her all day long, but as soon as she turned the tables he became timid as could be.

"Yeah, yeah! Please! I love learning more about all of you."

Three tails gave delighted waves.

"Well, I have a piercing I wanted to ask you about too, except..." The maid trailed off and reached down to worry at the hem of her skirt. Cream dipped her head so her silver hair shielded her eyes.

"You can tell us, sister." Citrouille encouraged.

"Hm!" The shy Lamia cried, unable to speak as she lifted her uniform. The champagne and vanilla scales of her snake half joined to the smooth skin of her belly. Since the Lamias could not functionally accommodate normal underwear, her bare sex was exposed. A pale slit with just a sliver of pink sat at the junction of the maid's hips. At the top of the tightly pursed petals a steel ball caught the light. A polished ring hung through the sphere with three polished pink pearls dangling in a line. The pearls were tucked into the Lamia's delicates. Her feminine petals held the little treasures like an actual flower folded around jewels would.

"Wow," Harmony gasped. "That's beautiful." She crouched down to get a better look.

"Cream, I can't believe you've kept such a secret from your sisters." Flora spoke as she and Citrouille lowered themselves on their coils on either side of Cream.

"I was t-t-too shy to talk about it." Although she shut her eyes tightly, Cream kept her skirt hiked up so Harmony could see.

Wanting a closer examination herself, Flora placed her hands on either side of Cream's vulva and parted the Lamia's lower lips. Though she squirmed and weakly protested, Cream did not pull away. A curved silver barbell was vertically pierced through the hood of her own pearl. Because she was spread and the hood pulled back, the actual pearls that dangled from the top barbell ring rested alongside her nub.

"That's incredible, dear Cream." Citrouille spoke with admiration, then worry. "Does that hurt at all? Is that why you've been so insatiable with Lord Koh lately?"

"No, no, no, nothing like that. It doesn't stimulate me on its own. Not usually, at least. But when Koh and I... It makes me... Ah... Feel better. That's all. Not like Croquette, anyway. Hers... Have you ever heard her ringing?"

"I always assumed she had bells under her shawl like... Oh. Oh my. So she has... Down there... With a bell?" Citrouille's eyes went wide while she was caught between amusement and sympathy.

"She told me that when she moved and it rings it... Pulls and... Flora, that's sensitive!"

Flora giggled as she let go of the dangling pearls.

"I would never get that myself. It's beautiful, don't get me wrong. I love body jewelry, but big needles near my girly bits makes me a smidge uncomfortable down there." Harmony reached up and fiddled with two of her earrings. Her human ears had been jungle gyms of hoops and had given her Scalebound avatar a few accessories as well. Lurk had no doubt been influenced by his wife in all things when adding little flairs to the maids. Just as Harmony had new adult additions, so too did the Lamia maids.

"I'm terribly sorry for our selfishness, Fair Lady." Cream winced as she smoothed her skirt back down. "We were supposed to help you."

"Well, anyway I was thinking about surprising Lurk with anal sex and-

"Yes, do that!" All three responded in unison.

"I mean, I'd love to do that, it's just we've never managed before? Lurk is very-" Harmony measured out a length with her hands that had the Lamias staring. "Proportionate." She finished.

"I might know just the thing, Fair Lady!" Cream exclaimed, producing a round glass flask that seemed familiar. "I heard from one of the mighty Corsairs about this. I guess they have a lot of... Need for such things."

Taking the flask, Harmony swirled the thick gel inside.

"We've used the rose oil from Loam, and it's pretty nice. Is this other stuff any good?"

"Oh it's simply the best, my Lady! I have three more bottles if you need them. It makes mating so smooth that your partner just glides right in. And it also does this wonderful thing where you can stretch without any discomfort. I think it would be perfect for you, Fair Lady." Obviously a bit too distracted, the Lamia gazed at something far away as she bunched up her skirt in her hands. "Why, with it, I could take all that Lord Koh had to give."

Even though she did not get what the maid was implying at first, Harmony smirked, wondering if the poor thing was about to start drooling in lust.

"Sister! You were able to fit both of Lord Koh's members?" Flora gasped.

"Wait, Koh has two cocks?" Harmony sputtered.

"You didn't know, Fair Lady? You created him as a Naga."

"Ah. Well. Help me pick some clothes, would you?"

Nodding eagerly, the three Lamias squealed in feminine delight as Harmony laid out the options. Panties were flung. Bra shapes were compared. Quibbling over material was had. Then lastly, after some deliberation of the various pieces of lingerie she had bought with Queen Ismeena, decisions were made.

First was a pair of black crotchless panties. Unlike some designs, these were more subtle. There was not a large gap to leave her delicates exposed, rather just a slit in the underwear that followed her own. This kept the secret of the lingerie intact until she spread herself. Lurk could just dip right into her with the sexy black lace to cradle him the whole way in. The underwear sat beneath her tail, but her preposterously loose short shorts had their own slit in the back that her tail slipped into. Aside from being obscenely comfortable, the red shorts had the added bonus of pulling tight if she bent over. With the crotch of the article hugging closely to Harmony's mound as she did so. Both Queen Ismeena and the tailor had been quite impressed at both the material choice and sexy fun functionality of the short shorts.

A very well fitted matching bra went with the panties, courtesy of a magically gifted tailor that could adjust garments with a spell. The black cups were cut so that the top of her areola peaked through the fine lace lining the cups. It also lifted and squeezed her bosom a touch. Just enough to accentuate her bust and pronounce her cleavage. Over that went a baggy tank top that matched the shorts.

"I need to drop a subtle hint to Lurk that I want him balls deep in my butt. Hm... Subtle. Oh! I know what he'll get." In a flash, flourish, and a touch of magic, Harmony shaped a dark pink sapphire into a butt plug. Popping open the flask of lube, she poured a generous dollop of the clear gel and got to work.

Raising her tail, she pulled her shorts aside for easy access and slipped the tip of her new toy into the slit of her panties. Heavy lube smeared over her guarded ring of muscle. Applying pressure until the pink sapphire spread her luscious haunches, she felt no discomfort just as promised. Whilst trying to work in the bulbous head of the toy, Harmony worried that she had made it too large as her rear opened wider and wider. Until she pushed just a bit harder and the largest part popped into her butt. Letting out a surprised gasp, her rear clenched at the sudden penetration. Throbbing in excitement, her tailhole settled on the tapered stem of the toy as the round base held it snugly in place.

Flora, Cream, and Pumpkin were all stunned to silence as they watched their Fair Lady bend over and insert the plug. Harmony bounced up, giggling and shaking her haunches at the delightful pressure on her insides.

"Oh I can't wait to see his face." Harmony announced before setting off, occasionally stopping to clench and feel the toy move with her.

After picking their jaws up off the floor, the three Lamias followed.

***BSL***

Lurk's slit pupils darted across an ever-growing, living map of the continent. His coat was draped over chair beside him, and his tail periodically twitched like a great cat on the hunt as he stood studying the map table.

It was an enchanted, scale model that expanded as members of Black Sky Legion explored the world around them. Small flags representing each of the Caliber Court were scattered across the board. The map could be used to zoom in on one specific area, rendering cities in stunning detail, or pulled back for a total view. Exploration had been a large part of the old game, so cartography tools ranged from the simple, to the complex.

On the ninth floor, the 'war room' as Lurk called it, had gone through the most renovations since their arrival into the new world. It was one of many rooms which opened from the branching halls of the throne room. As he started using the war room's map increasingly often, it gradually became a center of his daily operations in The Citadel. Neatly fulfilling a needed space to coordinate and plan their larger strategy. The room was a project Lurk had abandoned once. Its utility faded with Lurk's own interest in YGGDRASIL. While the uniquely enchantment of the table could only be made and used in a guild hall, it still had limitations.

While certainly impressive when it had been filled by the lava rivers and crags of Muspelheim, no one of Black Sky had ever needed to use it. Muspelheim was their home. They spent so many hours scouring its seemingly boundless miles, all three knew many secrets of the land that could not be found on any forum or guide. That did not appear on any map. Green grottoes. Crystal labyrinths hidden beneath volcanoes. Glitched out pockets of the Glowing Sea where the radiation had no effect.

When he had come to the war room the first time after the transfer, he had been greeted by the map table frozen in the last instant of the game. A snapshot of a world that had been left behind. Its lava rivers had stopped flowing. Storms frozen. And if one were to zoom in far enough, monsters could still be seen. No longer did the Fire Lily fields sway from the gusts of passing Wyverns. The Primal Fire Elementals all slept. And the central city sat more like a toy model, moored by its massive chains to the mainland, the streets no longer filled by the ambient music of Muspelheim.

Lurk could not bring himself to erase the table, and was grateful for the Forgemother making a fresh one, tuned to the new world. The old table had been moved to its better home in the Hall of Memories. The man who found himself king made sure to keep at least one reminder close by. Soot lay sleeping, curled around a small pile of Skuld's Favor. From the Valkyrie's Downfall expansion, Skuld was Muspelheim's quest giver. Her coins bore the symbol of that chapter of YGGDRASIL's history with Muspelheim's nature giving the currency their unique red cracks. Valkyrie's Nanite Oath hummed on his finger whenever his claw strayed too close to Skuld's tokens.

Leaning against the unfinished border, he pondered what dragons may lay beyond its edges. As Lurk rubbed a claw in idle thought along his jaw, a messenger ghoul arrived. A portal opening and closing as the ghoul settled on a standing perch with a rasp of metal feathers. The undead raven delivered its message with articulate clarity.

"High Lord, The watchtower construction team report that the foundation for the first concrete tower will begin pouring tomorrow."

At Lurk's behest, Skitharix had crafted many more messenger ghouls to ferry orders and reports directly to and from the war room. The undead ravens themselves were a one-time investment of MP and resources whereas [Message] itself was not. Just like [Gate], the portals that the messenger ghouls operated through could not fail and had no limit on distance. The Forgemother had given her assurance that they could be tied into the teleportation network of The Citadel to give them the same ease of access as the Guardians. Two overhead perches that extended the length of the room were crowded with the creatures as Lurk had made the mistake of not specifying exactly how many he wanted before the first batch arrived.

"Excellent. Tell the construction team to let Nox or I know if they hit any problems that might slow them down." Lurk's attention shifted to the mountains around The Citadel as he gave his order.

Just as the first ghoul departed, another arrived to take its place.

"High Lord, temporary watchtower teams have counted five new bandit attempts today. All neutralized without incident. Continued increase in number is not in line with estimates."

Running his tongue across his teeth, Lurk rubbed his jaw harder.

"Hm, they're still trying after all this time. Tell the temporary watchtower team to coordinate with hunting squads. I want the next few groups who try to be captured alive."

A flap of razor pinions, a flash, and the ghoul was off.

Holding out an arm brought one of the many ravens waiting overhead down to him.

"Please tell Skitharix to expect some guests that I want questioned. Bandit attacks are not slowing down and I want to know why. Tell him I am instructing his Flayer squads on the surface to bring in the next bunch who attack our watchtowers alive."

The many eyes painstakingly etched into the armored bird flashed as the ghoul bowed, then sped off to its assignment. However, there was still one more bird waiting to deliver its correspondence.

"High Lord, the Frighteningly Beautiful and Ever Deadly Phage the Untouchable wishes to propose and discuss an idea for war games at your earliest convenience. Also because she wants to sit down and have a meal together. And that I not tell you that part."

Snorting back laughter, Lurk took a moment to compose himself before responding.

"Tell her I'd love to hear all about it. That sounds like a tomorrow around lunch time sort of thing, if you could pass that along."

Another flash, and the message was away on metal wings.

The doors to the war room were left open for the many comings and goings of ghouls and the occasional Corsair runner. He had sent Nox to check with Wrath and Ruin about setting up gun emplacements for the outer defenses being built and was expecting the Guardian back soon. So when three Lamia heads peaked in, Lurk looked over just in time to see Harmony saunter in. The maids all whispered and giggled to one another as the Queen pranced right up to her King.

"Hello, sweetheart. Everything okay? How did practice with Legion go?" Lurk nuzzled Harmony's cheek. "Mm, you smell nice." Rubbing his nose into the fluffy mess of red hair, Lurk exhaled tension he did not realize he had been carrying.

"It went really well. I think I'll do more tomorrow." Harmony gave a quick sniff of her own, detecting something else below the cleaning oil and gunpowder that permeated Lurk's clothing. "Did you light some incense? Reminds me of clove."

"It's nice that old items have actual uses now. I don't remember the name of it, but it helps me concentrate." Lurk deflected, before turning the conversation away from a potentially difficult topic.

Sweeping out an arm, he indicated the many unfinished edges of the map.

"Things are still a bit of mess right now, but we're making progress. Fives is in it for the long haul. Incredible how far the Coalition armies travel to go to war. Grendel has mostly skirted the edges of the mountains but is starting to make headway northward."

Even as he talked, one claw idly played with Harmony's hair.

"Lapua's hit a bit of a dead end with the Death Lure. No pun intended. She's in the higher ranks of the Seekers guild and has been using them to search for who may have planted it outside Kadusia, but so far the trail is cold. There is one more place we can look. We've gotten reports from her, Nitro, and Ten Gauge about somewhere called the Meteor Fields. Which, if the rumors are to be believe, is the only place Death Lure could have come from. The Shoggoth which attacked Ten Gauge came from one of these relics too. Apparently there's a substantial market for artifacts that very much seem like they came from YGGDRASIL."

The sliver of the bizarre southern forests had only just begun to form on the table in the last few days.

"According to the word, the Meteor Fields are beyond this huge forest jungle hybrid thing. Mags is on the lookout for locals. I've told her to be extremely cautious in case it means players. Once she gets there, the map should be fill in and we'll get a better idea on what we're dealing with. I've told the others to collect what artifacts they find. Lapua thinks she can leverage her status with the Seekers to get a look at what the Kadusia arcane college might have. Ten Gauge is pulling double duty by taking care of some organized crime problems in Orza. And Nitro thinks he might be able to get himself invited to a poker game hosted by Oxelan ship captains."

"That is all very interesting hun, but did you notice anything about me?" Harmony's tail wagged before she could stop it. Excited chills raced down her back as a result.

"Oh, you do look very cute. But, you always look cute."

A chorus of giggling caused Lurk to look back at the three maids, then to Harmony.

"While I'm glad to hear that, there is a little detail you're missing. God I love how dense you are sometimes."

Harmony had to grab her husband's claws and guide his palms onto her rear. Even then, he still did not fully get the hint. His palms stayed glued to her cheeks, happily engrossed in rubbing her luscious butt until Harmony dragged his claws further. Slipping right into her loose shorts, he brushed the base of her tail until nudging something hard.

"Is that..." Trailing off, the pad of his claw circled the plug in Harmony's rear. A grin a mile wide gradually split his muzzle. Pushing on the toy, his kindling desire was quickly stoked to a bonfire as Harmony moaned at the touch.

"If we go to our room I'll be happy to show you _what_ it is and _where_ it is." Just to make absolutely sure her message was getting across, she pressed her mound against his thigh with a low whine.

Without a moment to lose, Lurk scooped Harmony up into a bridal carry and marched out of the war room. Alternating between laughing and warbling in pleasure, Harmony snaked her tail around Lurk's middle as they quickly moved toward the bedroom. As his pants grew horrendously tight, the draconic man still found a way to nuzzle into the soft hollow of his wife's throat and palm her rear.

Lurk pointed at one of the Lamias. Because of course the musical trio had followed their creators from the war room all the way to the threshold of their private chambers.

"Harmony and I are not to be interrupted. Nox can handle things for a little while. If anyone has any issues, they are to take it up with him."

"Y-y-y-yes, sir, High Lord!" Cream saluted so quickly she nearly bruised her chest.

Shutting the door with his tail, Lurk nearly ran straight over to their large bed and immediately made his own desire known. He got between Harmony's legs and pressed his own needy length against the plush mound, even hidden behind several layers of clothing. She continued to let out cute little sounds as he grinded against her, hot breath and equally hot tongue ravishing behind her ear and the weak spots on her neck.

Tingling in all the best ways, Harmony slipped free and put a hand to her lover's chest.

"You're not allowed to move, mister. You just sit right there, okay?" She purred. First thing she did was yank off his shirt. Running her palms down the burgundy scales of his chest, she reached his waist and unbuckled his pants.

His ridged length sprang free of his boxers and Harmony was reminded why she had such worry about something that large going into her quite small hole. Then she pushed those silly thoughts aside. She had prepared with a warm bath, a butt plug, and seemingly magical anal lube. Just in case Loam's special concoction did not work, she wanted to make sure he was satisfied. She began by trailing a single finger up the pronounced bulge running along the underside of his cock. Every time she bumped a ridge, his length twitched. A drop of clear pre-cum welled up at his tip. Too much of a good thing to waste, she peppered his shaft with kisses before taking the head of his cock between her lips.

Although her mouth was still human-sized, with a bit of practice she had managed to perfect being able to force his length as far as she could without gagging, then corkscrew her tongue the rest of the way. Feeling him twitch in her mouth was one thing. The ache that grew in her jaw as his girth strained her. Running her tongue along his ridges and bobbing up and down. But when the head of Lurk's member throbbed with him rubbing the back of her throat, her sight went fuzzy around the edges as she became faint from the sheer eroticism. She was so worked up from walking around and holding the sapphire plug that she nearly made a mess of her panties then and there.

Pulling back with a gasp, a string of gossamer saliva trailed off her lips for a moment.

Giving a laugh that turned into a flirty giggle, Harmony unhooked her bra and tossed it onto the bed. Pulling her tank top down, she gave Lurk a wonderful showing of her new piercings. Completely hypnotized, he pulled her close and his tongue wrapped around her right nipple, golden roses and all. From the way he pulled and licked, she could tell how riled up he was. While he was playing, she used the chance to liberally slather his length in the gel she had gotten from Cream earlier. She hoped it would work as well on cock as it had on the toy still wedged between her cheeks.

"This is a special lube from Loam that's supposed to be really great for anal. So here's hoping."

Pulling away, she grinned at Lurk's despondent 'Aw, c'mon,' at having titties taken out of reach. Taking a moment to free himself fully from his pants, he kicked them off and sat on the edge of their bed fully naked.

Flagging her tail so high that her shorts nearly wedged right up her slit, they were the next thing to come off. Of course she had to lower her extra appendage to slide the shorts down, yet it gave her the perfect opportunity to hide her treasure from Lurk's prying gaze, then reveal it with a flick of her scaly tail. The base of the pink sapphire butt plug held open the crotchless panties, giving Lurk just a peak of the golden strings of arousal dripping down her thighs.

"That's one of the most beautifully sexy thing I've ever seen."

Hypnotized by the display, Lurk watched in fascination as his Scarlet Dragoness struggled to pop the pink sapphire free of her stubborn hole. Just grabbing hold of the edges was not enough leverage. She had to slide her fingers between the base and her rear to pull. Harmony went weak in the knees for a moment as she stretched herself to the modest plug's widest point and the rest suddenly withdrew. Taking a moment to recover, she clenched her rear at the toe-curling intensity as her butt tried to clamp around nothing. Reaching back between her legs, she grabbed Lurk's slick shaft and dragged it through the channel of her sex. Moaning openly, she humped back against his cock to get it between the lacy opening of her panties and did not care that lube was being smeared all over her nub. She needed just a bit of relief from the pressure pooling below her stomach and ran him up and down her sex before at last lining him up with the real goal.

Lurk held his breath in anticipation as his sexy wife put enough weight down that her plush hole dimpled inward, straining. Before, he could barely squeeze the head of his member into her rear. Yet once his cock began to violate a most tender place, he was quickly engulfed by her luxurious backside.

"Okay, okay. Woah. Hngh!" She groaned. There still was no pain. Only intensity. Intensity like she had the king of all butt plugs straightening out her insides. Her hole throbbed and she clenched, hearing her husband groan in response only made her squeeze more. Tensing and relaxing the muscles helped her adjust to Lurk's girth.

"Holy fuck, honey." Rubbing the erogenous zone right at the base of her tail, Lurk leaned back on the bed to watch Harmony stuff his tool into her rear.

Accidentally putting a bit too much weight down, Harmony sank another few inches. Just because there was no pain, did not mean the stimulation was so intense it seemed painful. She was a sucker for anything to do with butt play. They both knew it was her weakness. Now in her new body, that taboo lust had seemingly been exacerbated. Her sight was unfocused and she was on the verge of drooling.

"You doing alright, hun? Does that hurt at all?" Feeling her tremble, he expected her to pull off of him with how lewdly spread her ass was. Lurk was fairly certain back in the human world there were businesses that specialized in making dragon dildos as large as what he had between his legs.

"This is amazing. There's no pain at all. Fuck. Oh gods. How much of you is that?"

"Well, you're past the head. It's a lot more than you can normally take. You doing okay?"

"Fuck yes I am. I just... Need a second."

Sitting back up, Lurk's claw found her thigh. Tickling the sharp tips along her bare skin, he tried to coax her legs open.

"No, no, baby. Way too sensitive." She complained, squirming as she did so.

"I just want to feel how wet you are, please?"

Though she whined and protested, Harmony leaned into his chest and spread her legs. With well-practiced claws, he spread her outer lips and found even those were slippery with her honey. With the pad of one digit, he knew how to come up from underneath her hood to stroke stiffening nub. His caress was enough to elicit a whimper and a clench of her untended pussy. Taking a deep breath, Harmony began impaling herself further. Lurk's claw making little circles around her clit helped mitigate the intensity coming from her butt. Floating on a rush of euphoria as her tailhole knew no pain or even discomfort, she decided to just keep going. She could not help herself. The idea of Lurk balls deep in her ass had been a fantasy she had entertained for years and it was finally happening.

As her taut butt was dragged over one prominent ridge after another, she fell in love with the stretch in a way she had never been able to manage as a human. Each one that pushed through convinced the dragoness that there was no way she could take any more. With agonizing slowness, her haunches came completely flush with the base of her husband's cock. Every nerve ending sang. Her legs were not under total control as her knees shook. This of course, only made her womb twinge in delight as her pussy tried to milk a length one wall over. Normally, Lurk bottomed out at the end of her tunnel and only rubbed her cervix. Now with the broad tip of his tool buried further than her pussy, the stimulation made her insides constrict so hard it felt as though her clit were in a cushioned vice.

Totally lost, Harmony rubbed her own belly, wanting to feel just how far she had lodged her partner into her guts. Harmony forced her butt to strain around Lurk's wide root, her bottom riding against his crotch. The tip of his cock just barely teased somewhere far inside her that cried out to be rammed into while the ridged cock seemed to be crushing her cunny so tight that her special places were crying out for more. Gasping in want, she lifted up just a bit, wiggled her hips, then pushed down with great strength.

The bolt of lightning which traveled through her abdomen as the tip of Lurk's manhood pounded into her walls coincided with him pushing just right on her love button to make Harmony cum.

Even though her mouth opened, not a sound escaped her. Body seizing from nose to tail, her insides contracted in ripples as waves of orgasm pulsed hot and wet from her core. Lurk wished dearly to pound up into his wife, but held back while she rode out her climax. While she did not squirt or gush, her cunny leaked a continuous stream of her golden juices like a valve had finally opened and all the building pressure was allowed to dribble free. The honey sweet perfume of her sex filled the room.

Harmony sagged back into Lurk's chest, her legs draped over his thighs.

"Wow, dear. I didn't think you'd cum from just that." He marveled, pulling his claw free of her flower with a wet plop. Regarding the tips of his digits that looked to have been brushed in gold leaf, his own manhood pulsed as Harmony's tailhole weakly squeezed his base.

"Me neither."

"Do you want me to finish back here? Or are you too sensitive?" Sliding his claws down luscious thighs, Lurk cupped her cheeks in his palms.

"Yeah baby. You can, absolutely. You wanna cum in my ass, don't you?" Harmony draped her tail over his shoulder.

"You want me to." He countered.

"So?"

Trying not to use her rear like a cocksleeve even though he very much wanted to, Lurk lifted her up and down at the slowest pace he could stand without going insane. It was excruciatingly delightful as his orgasm built and built, never dipping back into the valleys of climax, only heading up. Each time one of his ridges dragged on her hole, they both moaned.

"I'm not gonna last super long, sugar." Just as he said, the male could not maintain such a steady pace, however slow it really was, and not succumb. Slick with the gel, Lurk still knew delightful friction as he continued with his shallow thrusts. Losing himself, he bounced her up and down in his lap for a few deep strokes before slamming all the way and letting loose a torrent of seed. Pulling on her wrists, Lurk came as deep as he could. Impaled on the thickest part, Harmony was subjected to Lurk's girth swelling as he came. Pulse after throbbing pulse traveled down his cock and painted Harmony's insides white. Her walls strained to squeeze down on the intruding manhood. With a heat even the Scarlet Dragoness could feel, thick male essence washed ever deeper.

Even as his breath caught, sweet release rushed through Lurk. His claws massaged her thighs, just enjoying the plush euphoria his member was nestled into. He stayed buried in Harmony's rear until his cock grew softer and he pulled free with a squelch. Not caring even one whit that her freshly filled insides were about to overflow, Harmony fell onto their bed. Flopping onto her belly, Harmony splayed her limbs across the covers in whatever haphazard direction they fell and just throbbed. There was still no pain, yet some soreness persisted in her deeper places that Lurk's cock had newly reached.

What sealed her fate was laying her tail off to one side to give her privates a chance to relax. Though she did groan in discomfort as a heavy bead of cum spilled from her loosened ring of muscle. Her panties were an absolute mess and clung tightly to her cheeks. The lace was soaked through with a combination of gold cum, white cum, and the lube the couple had used.

Drinking in the sight of his wife's well-used and loosened rear, Lurk felt his manhood rise to the challenge. Even though the core of his shaft ached a bit, he was not about to stop it. There was no telling if this was just a one-time miracle, after all. Best to seize upon the chance so neither of them regretted not taking full advantage of the opportunity.

Lurk crawled between his lover's legs and began sliding his shaft between her cheeks.

"Hey darling," He trailed off sheepishly.

"What? What do you want from me?" She asked, full well knowing what he wanted.

"I'm hard again. Could we again... Maybe?"

"Unf. Fine. You're lucky I love you." Giving a weak giggled, she pushed her rear up into the air, happily offering him the chance to mount her.

"And I'm lucky you love anal so much."

"Shut up, and pound my ass before I change my mind." She stated, offering her already once pounded butt and lazily flopped her tail far enough to give him the perfect angle of penetration.

"Alright. I'll go slow. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" Scooting forward, he pushed her legs apart with his knees and lined up his still slick member with her tailhole. Lurk pressed forward, this time marveling at the control he had. Normally, he'd meet unassailable resistance just beyond the head of his cock. Yet there was none. He just kept pushing and although impossibly tight, Harmony's very tiny tailhole kept stretching. Harmony felt her butt flower open once again, and her husband's shaft sink dangerously deep. Her walls were dragged inward as she took several inches. Only his worry for her poor insides made Lurk pause, but his lover only begged for more.

Lurk gradually added pressure keeping a firm grip on the base of his shaft as he sank into wonderful warm red velvet. Once his sword was fully sheathed once again, he did not hold back nearly as much. His length sawed in and out of his lover's butt. Harmony's hole was mercilessly fucked and she loved every second of it. At that moment she could not have cared less about the consequences. No matter how magical the lube was, she knew her ass would be paying the price later, and it would be worth every bit of pain.

Heavenly cushion enveloped him and slapped wetly against his hips with every thrust. Her butt was tight in a different way compared to her pussy. The way her hole stroked his length was a lot of the pleasure. Fighting through the tightness to bury himself in the plush interior just beyond was a delight that he relished. Although not as consistently tight from end to end like her sex, anal had other sensations to offer. It was all about the way her red velvet insides flowered open for him. While soft to be sure, the key was in the give. The marshmallow fluff consistency which surrounded his shaft and enveloped his head was too inviting not to plow and fill.

Once again he gave a few strong thrusts before climaxing, this time ramming the full length of his endowment in and out. His claws gripped her waist, pulling her tightly to him as he spilled his second load into his wife's receptive walls. The male's abdomen nearly cramped as his more feral high tore through him. Crying out as she felt her guts churned into a frothing mess, Harmony clenched the sheets as more virile essence bloated her full rear. She shuddered as she remembered just how much Lurk came in his new body.

Folding underneath the carnal onslaught, she could only lay with her husband's weight atop her as he finished using her hole to relieve his burden. Without losing an inch of penetration, Lurk followed her down, giving a purring growl in satisfaction. He could not help but lustfully respond to the submissive body language of the warm female under him after committing such a trusting and intimate act.

"Oh!" She squeaked as Lurk bucked in the waning peak of his orgasm, making sure to drain every drop into her. Seconds sluggishly ticked by as the two of them panted before Lurk softened enough to pull free again.

"I think I could die happy, right now." Lurk drank in his handiwork, doing his best to permanently ingrain the absolute mess he had made of his wife's butt into his memory.

"Uh-huh." Harmony actually was drooling at this point.

"Did you enjoy that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you love me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you want me to get you a towel?"

"Uh-huh."

***BSL***

"We're going to go practice, alright, Cream?" Citrouille smiled as her happiness for Cream far outweighed her jealousy at not being picked.

"Don't have too much fun without us, okay?" Flora giggled as the two Lamias slithered away, leaving their poor sister with the blessing of duty given directly by their High Lord.

Cream could only sigh, overwhelmed by the responsibility placed upon an unworthy maid. She was both unprepared and uncertain about herself. Then she remembered that she had been created by High Lord Lurk himself! Shoulders back. Straight posture. Lastly she collected her coils into a tidy bun beneath her in front of the door to the bedroom of her monarchs. She had a job to do and she was going to do it to the best of her abilities!

The hallway was quiet for a time. Minutes ticked by peacefully until the hour folded over. Most of the other maids had finished with their chores for the day and were likely getting something to eat or relaxing in the baths. During the interim, Cream was left alone with her wandering thoughts. And it was quite difficult to keep those truant inklings from pondering on what was going on beyond the door at her back. Especially since she did not have to work hard to imagine just what her High Lord and Fair Lady were up to.

What would they do first? Cream knew all the details of what Lady Harmony was wearing. Both outside... And inside. Would High Lord Lurk go for her breasts? Pulling down the beautiful lacy cups of her bra, only to see the golden roses? They had looked so stunning on the Fair Lady. Those red pebbled buds held on either side with the detailed blooms, complimenting the golden flecks sprinkled liberally all about the Queen. To Cream, the looseness of the tank top and shorts invited desire.

One of the Lamia's idle hands reached up to her own chest, fondling the endowed bosom so many of her sisters were jealous of.

Would High Lord Lurk then discover the secret of the underwear the Fair Lady had chosen? So cleverly woven to hide the truth only to pull apart along Harmony's crimson slit, so slick with gold? And beneath, the gem plug holding open her butt in a bloom of pink sapphire? Through the crystal, the Fair Lady's taboo hole would be visible to the High Lord's prying eyes. Cream still shuddered with the prideful ecstasy that her great ruler consulted with her and her sisters about what would rile up their High Lord. And that she had witnessed Lady Harmony preparing her body to copulate with the other god of The Citadel was an incalculable treasure of itself.

Lost to her surroundings, Cream's traitorous other hand brushed a little too close to the hem of her skirt and could not resist the pull towards her melting center. The lightest touch of the pearls dangling from her sex sent honeyed shivers down her back to the tip of her tail. Her Lady had called them beautiful, and Cream no longer felt any shame at all in having such a piercing.

Tease after tease meant that Cream was aching for release even before she had assumed her post. She had nearly came just watching Lady Harmony spread her crotchless panties to insert the pink sapphire toy. Cream actually had cum a little when High Lord Lurk's claw had traced his wife's backside and discovered the fact that she had something inside herself, stretching her, warming her up in anticipation of consummating their affection in a most scandalously unorthodox manner.

Her own pink pearl was under merciless assault the entire way from the bathhouse to her guard station. Normally it was not a daily distraction, but since revealing her secret to the Fair Lady, her nub had been stimulated enough to have the barbell rub it further as she moved. Particularly because Flora had toyed with the pearls which dangled down her vulva, moving the piercing from its normal spot where Cream had it tucked. Shameful dew collected on her lower lips, welling up from the teardrop shaped bottom of her sex. Sticky strings connected her vulva to her skirt as she lifted it. Air brushed along her bared pussy, causing a shiver to travel the significant length of the Lamia's back.

Just one touch would not hurt...

Voices echoed down the hall and Cream nearly hit the ceiling in fright. Smoothing down her rumpled skirt, she folded her hands formally just as two Deathclaws came into view. Though not in their full battle rattle, the two still presented an intimidating martial front to the humble maid. The two were discussing watchtower armament and keep placement. Ruin held Soot in her arms, dangling a piece of smoked rawhide the Gunpowder Dragon chewed on as Wrath twirled a bullet between her knuckles.

"Lady Wrath! Lady Ruin! Greetings, great defenders of The Citadel." Cream bowed her head respectfully. Both the Guardians looked quizzically at the maid.

"Yes, we were looking for High Lord Lurk. We expected to find him in the War Room, but he wasn't there." Ruin stroked Soot as the little fireball gnawed on his treat.

"Ah, um, oh, yes, about that... You see High Lord Lurk and Lady Harmony have retired for the moment and I have been given direct instruction from our High Lord that he and the Fair Lady are not to be disturbed under any circumstances. Should any emergency arise, Lord Nox is to handle things in their absence."

Wrath peered quite closely at Cream, her eyes narrowed into slits. The Deathclaw's long tongue flicked out only inches from the vanilla and pink Lamia's face. Instinctively, Cream's daintier forked tongue did the same. Heat rose in her cheeks as she tasted the rich scent clinging to her uniform.

"C'mon, Wrath, let's go down to the firing range. I'm sure Nox will turn up eventually." Ruin scoffed, more in impotence than derision.

Lingering just a minute longer, Wrath pointed to her eyes, then back at Cream before joining her sister. And the two departed.

Thankfully Cream's vigil did not last forever as it was not too long after Wrath and Ruin left that Lurk and Harmony emerged from their bedroom. Looking noticeably satisfied, and disheveled, they spoke of post coital snacking. Lurk thanked Cream for making sure they were undisturbed. The Lamia bowed in deference to her High Lord's kindness. When she glanced up at her Lady, Harmony gave her a wink and a smile before the couple set off toward the dining halls.

Once they too, were out of sight, Cream exhaled a long held breath in relief knowing that she had fulfilled her charge. No doubt her sisters were still practicing. However, before that, she needed to find a secluded corner to take care of the need setting her stomach ablaze. Fortunately, the ninth floor of The Citadel was peppered with alcoves and little sanctuaries.

All she had to do was take the next turn. Just around the corner and-

Two arms rippling with muscle slapped into the wall on either side of her, pinning Cream in place. Thick around her waist, the raw strength of the limbs was not something that the low level maid could overcome. Wrath pushed her chest into the maid, wedging the Lamia between herself and the wall. The Deathclaw was of such stature, that the Lamia shrunk until her breasts pressed against Wrath's belly. A pleased growl rumbled through the imposing Guardian as she grinded on the soft maid.

"Naughty little slinky. What were you doing in front of our High Lord and Lady's room before I came? And where were you going in such a hurry? With such sticky fingers?" Chuckling at Cream's growing blush, Wrath crouched down. Compared to her constitution, the Lamia may as well have been a stuffed toy. Wasting no time, the Deathclaw flipped up the maid's skirt and was stunned for just a moment before an evil grin split her muzzle.

"Pearls on top of a pearl? How scandalous."

"Lady Harmony said they were beautiful"

"Well, she's right. But that means you were showing yourself off in front of the Lady? I really must punish you now." Wrath fully intended on indulging herself. She took a deep breath of the Lamia's glistening sex before burying her muzzle into the plump vulva. Wrath's tongue dove right in, tasting only sweet summer rain and sugar cookies. Cream cried out sharply as her tunnel clamped around its slippery intruder. Thick and prehensile, the tongue probed for the special places within her.

Then the Deathclaw's attention moved up, her tongue delighted by the panoply of textures offered by slipping into Cream's pierced hood. The lower end of the barbell was warmed by the Lamia's delicates and the pearls were a smooth delight. Even the smallest tug on Cream's piercing had the sensitive maid quivering uncontrollably. Clear juices ran freely from the junction of the Lamia's two halves. Wrath used this to bring her to the brink of orgasm with ease.

"Tell me what our Lord and Lady were doing."

"I... I didn't hear anything!"

"Liar," Wrath accused before blowing air over the soaking wet lips. The shock of cold made the Lamia beg for mercy. Cream moaned as Wrath once more buried her snout in the maid's plush sex. She gave the cushion around Cream's generous hips an extra squeeze. With deft workings of her tongue, Wrath got the Lamia within inches of climax before she stopped again. After the fourth time, Cream was quivering, her nub so engorged it hurt. Her petals so puffed up with arousal her crotch felt swollen.

"I'm sorry, Lady Wrath!"

"Then tell me what you know. You wouldn't have been sneaking in a bit of playtime if you hadn't heard or seen something."

"Alright! I'll tell..." As soon as she thought of it, her sex twitched and the Lamia's stomach twisted in knots. "They... I... Lady Harmony asked my sisters and I if High Lord Lurk would enjoy anal sex and I gave her some of the special... Special potion from Loam and then Lady Harmony made a butt plug and..."

"What potion?"

Cream nearly jumped at the sudden demand and produced one of her spare bottles, grateful that she had gotten three of them when she had. The intimacy aid would become quite in demand throughout The Citadel after word spread about the monarchs of Black Sky requesting it.

"Now my special place is needing some attention." Wrath unbuckled her pants and shimmied them down mid-thigh as she toyed with the bottle of lube. "If you do a good job, I'll reward you. But no playing with yourself until I say so." She tapped a claw right above her slit, a slim pink valley peaking from between the tiny hills of her scaly mound. Feminine juices trickled freely and collected into a crystal droplet that hung from her flower like morning dew.

Already low, Cream reached out to tend to the needs of the Deathclaw. Dainty fingers traced Wrath's outer lips, parting the standing Guardian's sex and gathering her natural lubrication. The Lamia worked her sensual touch over and between Wrath's vulva, sliding inward along the delicates towards the bundle of nerves tucked at the very top. To Wrath, the Lamia's skin was so soft, it may as well have been silk. For a while she relaxed and enjoyed the massage on her clit, pleasure swiftly pooling at her entrance. Although pleasant, the Deathclaw wanted something more.

"Lower, silly. Your fingers are too good not to have in me. Here, use this. You can't talk about our Lord and Lady using this to mate and not want a taste." Wrath instructed, giving the maid back her bottle of special gel. Whining as her own pussy cried out for attention, Cream dutifully uncorked the potion and got a generous dollop of the lube. With her digits nice and slick, the Lamia coated Wrath's lips. Feeling the Guardian's lady bits, the Lamia worked her fingers along Wrath's cunny. Those smooth fingers went lower, burying themselves into pursed Deathclaw lips before teasing around her entrance. The Lamia slipped a finger inside of Wrath, then two when the soaking wet walls opened around her digits with ease.

"Ah! Good girl." Moaning freely, Wrath undulated her hips and rested a palm on Cream's head. Her claws sieved through straight silver hair and pushed Cream towards her pussy. "You know how to finish me off." The Deathclaw chirped.

The maid's nose was an inch away from Wrath's own scaly slit. While not as dreamily floral as Cream's, it was not an unpleasant musk. Stronger, and with more of a tartness to it, but appealing all the same. Stretching out her tongue even as she thrust her fingers in and out with louder squelches, Cream parted Wrath's pussy with her free hand and went to work. Her talented appendage wormed under the Deathclaw's hood and lapped against the erect nub hidden there. Swaying her hips and wrapping her tail encouragingly around the maid's, Wrath stood and enjoyed the attention lavished on her. Looking down, she was enraptured watching the demure Cream's lips glued to her delicates.

Wrath went weak in the knees and pressed her scaly slit against the mouth and tongue servicing her as she came hard and fast. Her pussy clamped around the musician's fingers. Cream applied great pressure on the g-spot she had found inside the Deathclaw. The Lamia's tongue circled Wrath's nub and kept the Guardian's orgasm pleasurable throughout even though her tongue threatened to cramp. A shudder of release ran through Wrath's belly, quenching the lusty thirst that had been festering there. Hoping she was finished, Cream pulled her fingers free and rubbed the ache that had settled in her jaw from the vigorous oral she had performed.

"That was wonderful. I feel much better. You have my permission to take care of yourself." Wrath gave Cream a pat on the head. Straightening herself, Wrath buckled her pants and stepped over Cream's coils. Then hummed to herself as she made her way off down the hall.

Unable to even muster up the will to protest, Cream lay in a pile of her own coils until she found the strength to recover. She did not bother to finish herself off. Self-service would only slake so much of the lust which sputtered under the wet blanket of denial.

Ruffled around the edges, uniform askew, and feeling quite clam-jammed, Cream dejectedly slithered towards the maid's common room.

A very large, very long, and very male presence came out of a bedroom just beside the Lamia maid's dorm.

Koh reared up, crossing his arms over his chest as his tongue flickered.

"And just what have you been up to, little Cream? You smell as though someone _else_ has been using one of my favorites."

_Oh no. Not again._

Cream thought to herself.

***BSL***

After bailing on her sister and molesting the lovely pink and vanilla Lamia, Wrath had gone off to take a bath. The idea of anal sex was tantalizing to her. The only problem was finding a suitable partner. Emerging fresh from one of the baths wearing nothing but a towel, Wrath considered who might be a suitable candidate to proposition for her pleasure. Perverted ideas floated through her mind. So caught up by thinking about what length and shape of cock would feel the best and who was suitable equipped she paid little attention to her surroundings.

At least until double her weight in solid slabs of coiled muscle constricted around her in the form of Koh.

"What is the meaning of this?" She demanded, wiggling her limbs but unable to overcome the Naga King's strength.

A small, yet important detail was that the head butler had been made before the Caliber Court. Lurk had felt guilty about using so many levels, and wanted Harmony to make more max level NPCs than just Crisis and Legion. So because Lurk had made so many cute Lamias in little french maid outfits, she had decided that the best thing would be to use a hundred of The Citadel's levels on making 'A big snake daddy that fucks all the bitches', in her own words. Although there had never been cause for Koh to use the glaive she had made for him, he was more than capable of going tail to toe with any player.

At the moment, he was using his considerable racial bonuses, and a bit of his own intuition.

"Dearest Cassstellan, if you wanted to know the pleasures enjoyed by our High Lord and Fair Lady, you had but to ask. I know exactly what you were doing in that bath. And since you were so kind as to prepare yourself, I would be happy to ssscratch that itch of yours." Though he normally held it back, a bit of a sibilant tinge slipped into his words.

"I am the Guardian of the Alpha Bunker! And I- mph!"

Koh gagged the Deathclaw with the tip of his tail.

"But we are not on the firssst floor. We are on the grounds entrusted to me by our creators. You have have availed yourself of one of my maids. While this in and of itself is of no concern, you left one of my favorites in quite the sssorry ssstate afterwards. Again, forgivable if not for one crucial detail. One of my duties as head butler is anticipating the needs of any female within The Citadel. And I have been gifted in my making by Lady Harmony herself with the stamina to accomplish thisss."

Wrath's struggles slowed as she glared at the Naga King, his glossy hide shifting with his coils. He leaned down to match her stare with a knowing glint in his slit-pupil eyes.

"If you truly believe you have done no wrong, do not deserve to face reprisal, and do not wish to know the _forbidden_ pleasuresss that our Fair Lady received at behest of the mighty High Lord, whose virility all males assspire, then you have but to sssay ssso. And I shall release you immediately, your transgressions against my maids will be forgiven. But you and I both know full well that you _want_ to be punished."

When she could not even muster a muffled protest to the contrary, Koh smiled.

"Do not fret, Lady Wrath. I will take good care of you." With Wrath tidily bound up in his coils, Koh undulated toward his private quarters. "There is even a special surprise. But I will not spoil the fun."

Carrying on somewhat of a one-sided conversation, Koh made good speed toward his bedroom. In no time at all, Wrath was being hauled through the door like a trussed up prize boar.

In a glance, the Deathclaw took in the key features of the space. A blazing hearth of Evercedar logs consumed one entire wall, casting the whole space in dancing light. The black and white tile in front of the fireplace conducted the warmth nicely as a place for Koh to bask. Koh's most prized possession was a marble chess set in one corner that Harmony had given him in addition to knowledge of the game and how it was played when she had created him. The head butler's quarters had one especially important facet. Rather than a bed, there was a large indentation in the center of the room filled with pillows.

Just as promised there was a surprise waiting for Wrath. Spread loosely across the bed of pillows was a naked Cream. The beauty of her body was on full display. Her vanilla scales blended so nicely with her human half that even the pink champagne of her speckled accents seemed to flow with her conjoined parts. Her silver hair spilled between her generous breasts and slim shoulders, flowing in a shimmering wave as she got up from the lavish pillows.

"You... Y-you did it, Lord Koh! I know... You said... But I didn't think that Lady Wrath actually wanted..."

"Looks can be deceiving, little Cream. And you are going to assist me in finishing what Lady Wrath started with you." Sliding his prodigious bulk onto his bed, Koh stripped off his own butler atire and threw it onto a standing wardrobe.

"Yes, Lord Koh."

From his sheath emerged not one, but two cocks. He had not been exaggerating when he had spoken of his Fair Lady's gifts. Wrath's eyes went wide as she caught sight of his endowment. Slim, ribbed heads tapered into thicker shafts. On their own each was a fair specimen, covered in scale-like texture and mottled in his black and white belly coloration. And although they were intimidating in length, they were not overly thick. Unable to tear her eyes away, Wrath's cunny clenched at the idea of him going anywhere under her tail. Even though she knew it was a trick of the burning Evercedar, but she could have sworn that the Naga King's hemipenes were glistening in the light. Not just a mating tool, but a purposefully designed work of sensual art.

Engrossing herself in the tangle of Koh's coils, Cream poured a liberal helping of the gel onto her hands and stroked his shafts. Aided by the lube, her talented hands worked both of the butler's members. Naturally she had to prepare Wrath too, and rubbed the gel into the Deathclaw's tailhole.

"This is what you were really after. Wasn't it, Lady Wrath?" Cream giggled, massaging the tight ring of muscle, teasing Wrath's butt by pushing all around the outside. Whining despondently around Koh's tail, Wrath was ashamed at how readily her body responded as the maid penetrated her rear with two fingers coated in the magical extract. She pushed back, eager for more before she realized what she was doing. It felt especially wonderful when those same fingers which had been so talented in her pussy applied that poise and expertise the Commando's butt. She would never admit that she desperately needed to get laid and had just been taking her frustrations out on the poor maid, but Cream already knew.

After a bit of shuffling Wrath in his coils, Koh had her bent over a thicker segment of his body, tail up and legs spread.

Wrath was inexperienced when it came to anal, so she drifted in a mixture of lustful anticipation and dread. Her heart nearly fluttered with nervous excitement as Cream dragged the tip of a cock down the underside of her tail to catch in the tight hole at the base of the thick appendage. The helpful maid continued to work the serpent-man's tool even as Koh pushed forward into Wrath's butt. Being a Deathclaw, she was a big girl and without too much difficulty, the Naga slipped his ribbed head inside. Beginning with a tortuously slow pace, Koh made sure to increase his depth first. Little thrusts, stimulating her rear with the cunning texture of the single hemipenis he was using. And with each push, he sank a little further, inevitably bringing his groin flush with her athletic haunches.

Caught face down, ass up, tail flagged, and with a deep, feminine need to have something manly so deep inside she could taste it, Wrath cried out in rapture as the Naga bottomed out inside her. He had taken the tip of his tail out of her mouth as the Deathclaw was far from coherent speech at that point. Cream, meanwhile, had a front row seat and enjoyed every inch of it.

"Though it is my duty, I will take great pleasure in this, Lady Wrath. My, my, you are quite warm." Koh spoke with a sibilant curl of amusement to his tone. To further his point, he pressed his hips forward, making sure Wrath knew just how deep the Naga was. However, Koh was actually making a gross understatement. Wrath was not just warm. She was a furnace. A scorching toy tailored to test his self control as the luxurious hole did its best to make him lose all inhibition and breed her. Pound the shape of his cock so deep and hard that she would spend every minute not being speared by his length thinking about how badly she needed it. He would make her belly crave the taste of his cum before he was done.

Dragging his cock back bit by seemingly endless bit, Wrath was left knowing that emptiness before having the sword and every scaly bump along its length pressed back in with one smooth stroke. Each time he hilted, Koh made sure to give an extra push to smack his hips against her own. Wrath's mind went fuzzy around the edges as the slow pace acclimated her insides until her walls ached not with the stretch, but the lack. Experience had taught the head butler many ways of having females begging for the mercy of a good rut before he was done. Tempting though it was to ream Wrath's unruly backside, his lesson would stick if she was the one in the end pleading to have her ass hammered until all she knew was him filling her.

Cream squirmed her way underneath the heavy coil that Wrath was bent over to get unhindered access to the Deathclaw's treasure. While Koh was preoccupied with Wrath's ass, she would have fun with the Deathclaw's defenseless pussy. The maid nuzzled right up to Wrath's neglected slit. Dainty fingers slid along wet petals with the same deftness as cello strings.

"You have a very pretty pussy, Lady Wrath. Since you liked my pearls so much, I have no doubt you would look good with some riiiight here." Cream pulled back Wrath's hood and playfully put pressure at the very top of the other female's pussy. She parted the Deathclaw's softest parts far enough to have the Wrath squirming as her clit was exposed. Grinning, even though it could not be seen, Cream then wrapped her lips around the hooded nub and gave a firm suckle. Knowing just what to do, Cream relentlessly nursed on Wrath's clit in opposing rhythm of the Naga's thrusts until the Deathclaw's bundle of nerves was so swollen it sat erect between the petals.

Then, just as Wrath neared sweet release, Cream did the unthinkable. She pulled back, keeping the Deathclaw's insides exposed, and blew cold air. Wrath bucked so hard in Koh's coils she inadvertently rammed her butt back, burying the Naga's member so deep it stunned her with the intensity of sensations.

"My little Cream, that was positively devious. I felt dear Wrath clamp down so hard I nearly hit a high note myself." Koh's cocks were not just thick, they were long, the more flexible tips able to stimulate the deepest female. At the moment that meant plowing into her egg chamber from the rear. Steadily becoming over-sensitized from Cream's purposeful sucking on her bundle of nerves, Wrath's lower half throbbed as her pussy was scraped from the back while unbearably teased from the front.

"Are you ready for your first gift?" The Naga grasped at Wrath's waist.

"Wait, you're going to cum in me?!" Full of incredulity, Wrath struggled fiercely for a short time before Koh's next words made her freeze.

"Do you want me to stop?" Koh asked, building the pressure he was applying to Wrath's rear. His fingers gripped her waist, drawing her even tighter to him. The Deathclaw's poor hole stretched and stretched yet every extra bit of pressure her butt could take without discomfort because of Loam's special lube just compounded her nerves, driving her mad with desire.

"No! Yes! I mean, don't stop. Please. Please don't stop. I want to feel it, please."

Rather than answer, Koh sawed his lower length in and out of the Deathclaw's hole. His pace grew faster and faster, rocking his captive in his coils. Cream left Wrath's pussy completely just in time to watch Koh to constrict tighter. The cock that was sheathed inside Wrath pulsed as wave upon wave of heavy seed made the manhood twitch. Both Naga and Deathclaw cried out as male essence poured into the female's greedy backside. Koh still lavished in the warm-blooded broodmare draining his length, while Wrath felt a virile cock twitch and spurt cum deep into her ass. Even though it was left out, Koh's other spire dribbled clear fluid across her back.

A lewd slurp accompanied Koh pulling his milky length from Wrath's butt.

With one load of cum oozing into her and Loam's special oil smeared deeply, Koh decided to start the real punishment. Now was the time to fully utilize the gifts the Fair Lady Harmony had given him.

"I wonder what licentious things you've done with some of my other maids. What depraved things have you forced from my lovely ladies? I know just how to deal with a brute." Koh grasped both of his cocks and squeezed them together and lined the pair of spires with Wrath's slightly gaping hole as she dribbled a small amount of seed.

"You can't! I'll tear!" Wrath protested.

"Do not fret, Lady Wrath. Some of my lovelies are quite insatiable, and are no strangers to receiving all of my gifts. Isn't that right, Cream?"

"Yes, Lord Koh." Cream moaned in agreement, her own sex clenching at the pounding she had received not long ago. The Lamia slithered out from underneath Lady Wrath and her head butler to better watch. There would not be much room left for her in a few moments.

"See? If little Cream here can take it, then surely you can. And remember, Lady Harmony gave me many gifts. One of which is anticipating the needs and desire of females. Any female."

Firmly grasping his cocks in one hand and Wrath's tail with his other, Koh snagged her ring of muscle with the tips of his manhood.

"Lord Koh, may I have her mouth?"

"Of course, little Cream." Koh answered with a smile even as he began to sink into Wrath's hole. She had taken such a pounding that the ribbed heads both got in easily. It was from there that the Deathclaw would know the full girth and intimate bumps of Koh's hemipenes when working in tandem.

Cream rested her long body on the red and orange coils of her serpentine partner and was not going to let him have all the fun. Besides, Wrath had a job to finish. Though Cream was not cruel. The Lamia pressed her mouth against Wrath's muzzle with the full intention of making sure the Castellan enjoyed the experience as she did. The maid's slim tongue found Wrath's own. They moaned into each other's kiss. Silken fingertips rubbed the Deathclaw's supple hide around her jaw and eyes, letting the tough Guardian experience all the fine service Cream had to give.

Once she was done exploring the Deathclaw's mouth, Wrath's tongue tingled for more, and was left hanging from her muzzle as Cream pulled away. Freely playing with Wrath's pussy had been absolutely delightful. However, grabbing the Deathclaw by both of her forward curving horns and using her muzzle to climax. A bit too eager to mash her delicates into Wrath's pebbled snout, she bumped her pearl piercing into the Deathclaw's nose. Cream gasped at the contact and a bit of cum leaked from Cream's sex.

"I needed Lord Koh to help me after our encounter, Lady Wrath. He made a wonderful mess in me. But now I want you." The Lamia urged her on.

Wrath's tongue was almost as flexible as a Lamia's and much thicker. That delightful appendage slipped into Cream's wet core with ease. Because of the angle, every time Wrath's tongue dipped into the Lamia's cunny, it dragged along her clit as well. Although she lacked the equipment to force her way down the Deathclaw's throat, Cream still eagerly humped Wrath's face. She gave Koh quite the show, her pillowy breasts bouncing in her vigorous, if clumsy movements.

One shudder was all the warning Wrath got before Cream climaxed. While she did not squirt or gush, the Lamia definitely leaked a copious amount of honey. It was Wrath's turn to discover just how sweet the maid really was. Deep inside, Wrath could indeed taste the mixture of Koh and Cream's union. And to the Deathclaw's depraved delight, the mixed essence had the distinct flavor of actual peaches in heavy cream. As Wrath's jaw was worked, her tongue squeezed by convulsing snake-girl pussy, Koh sank dangerously far into her rear. Bending the Deathclaw's tail further, Koh forced her ass up as the angle of her pelvis tilted to better receive him.

She could no longer think. Aside from shuddering, she had gone limp in Koh's embrace. Her whine rose in pitch as Loam's special concoction did its magic, making her backside slick and pliable. If her mouth had not been so occupied eating out Cream, Wrath would have been drooling. Her stomach felt as though it was going to cramp from the strain. If one of Koh's hemipenes had applied force to Wrath's womb, then two put her chalice in a vice and constricted until she was sure that he was using some form of sex magic to massage her ovaries too.

Beneath her stretched rear, Wrath's sex bloomed open from the thickness she was being forced to accommodate. Pink insides winked out from between neglected petals as indecent amounts of Naga King cock was stuffed into her hot stomach. When Koh at last hilted both hemipenes and his root came flush with Wrath's obscenely stretched hole, the lips of her sex nearly pressed into his lower cock. Only then to be drawn apart and her juices connect them in strings of arousal as he pulled back with a bawdy slurp.

"So warm." Koh himself was also enjoying himself possibly far too much. He started thrusting faster. Deepening his strokes and forced the Deathclaw's slick pillowy walls to strain under the unyielding pleasure of his rods. The scaly texture did its work as well, tugging and dragging along silk belly lining.

Having both of his cocks buried in a single hole was a rare delight for the Naga King. Especially twice in the same day. He maintained a steady pace, taking his time to fuck Wrath up the ass to let out as much as he was worth. Even though he was designed for stamina, not even Koh could resist the exotic delicacy laid before him for long. And he did not fight it, leaning into his climax. Since his members were in such a tight spot, Koh acutely felt his cum travel down his length with each pulsating throb of his own deeper muscles. He had been holding back with one member to an extent. Not the second time. Koh painted Wrath's insides white with cum.

Even though she was a Commando, first of her class, boasting the highest killcount, power unmatched, it was having her ass pounded and filled like a condom that had her over the final edge. Pleasure built alongside the pressure as Wrath did not know what was coming until she was pitched off her cliff into the throes of orgasm. Her tongue slipped free of Cumming purely from the anal double penetration was not at all like when she had Cream get her off in the hall. Heat built up in Wrath's throbbing lower half until she could not distinguish what nerves went to which hole. She only knew that her feminine core was being rammed by two tons of Naga cock.

With her already saturated intestines coming under pressure, Wrath felt full up to her throat. And she loved every second of it.

Only once he was finished, every drop spent into the Deathclaw's butt, did Koh pull back. Wrath had been fucked too loose to do anything other than twitch her tired rear. Her tailhole gaped from the stretch of taking two cocks up her voluptuous ass. Letting out needy whines, she mourned the sudden emptiness that ached more than being full. Warm cum sloshed in her belly and the unexpected shifting of her contents had Wrath curling her tail as she arched her back. Her vuvla was so plumped up with arousal that her intimate pink insides glistened with beaded dew.

"Pl-please. Cum in... Cum in me more. Please. C-cum in me. I'll let you use either hole. Fill me, I beg of you." She moaned, uncaring how desperate she sounded because she was desperate. Presenting her haunches in the primal language of a female begging to be mounted. Wrath felt her rear begin to leak and there was nothing she could do other than hope she was plugged up again soon.

"My dearest Wrath, you do not need to beg help from one of the Fair Lady's champions." Koh purred.

***BSL***

Nox had been searching for Wrath to consult with her about the war map when he happened across a most peculiar sight.

There were at least a dozen Lamia maids all piled on top of each other in front of the door beside their common room. Their tails all twitched back and forth as they spoke in muffled voices. Their collective murmuring, punctuated by giggles bounced down the halls.

"Ladies, please, I'm right here. You can take turns." Nox called out, allowing the steel shod heels of his boots to announce his presence as he threw his arms wide.

As a group, the maids all looked back, saw who it was, and collectively turned their noses up at him before slithering off.

All except for one exceptionally beautiful Lamia with bright emerald coloring and flowered tattoo sleeves. Nox sauntered

"You're Flora. Isn't that right?"

Putting a hand to her lips and giggling, Flora looked up at Nox and blinked her long lashes his way.

"That's right, Lord Nox. I'm honored you know me."

"Of course, darling. It is my business to know."

"Then you must know my sister, Citrouille."

"You mean Pumpki-" Nox was interrupted by a firm, open palmed slap and one final 'hmph' before Flora joined her other sisters in departing.

Naturally he was not upset in the slightest. More impressed by the fact that she had managed to catch him by surprise. This did not stop him from watching her hips sway as she slithered away.

Curious, he looked in through the cracked door to see just what had so many little slinkies all paying such close attention.

"Woah, that's a lot of dick. Oh that's a lot of dick going up that poor girl's ass."

Being the conscientious man he was, Nox set off to go grab an extra large ice pack from the kitchen. No doubt Wrath would be grateful for his thoughtfulness and be willing to share what had led her to such a tantric-intensive encounter.

***BSL***

Author's Notes: Today's vocabulary lesson is Hemipenis, plural, Hemipenes. Noun: Each of the paired male reproductive organs in snakes and lizards.

This wholly unnecessary lesson in both vocabulary and biology is from my needlessly comprehensive knowledge of different animal mating habits, behavior, and reproductive anatomy! Thanks younger me for being an overachiever and taking advanced placement courses even though they did not help me get any credit in literature! I'm sure it will come in handy later when you're writing fantasy snake /  
Though it does raise an interesting question.

What kind of tackle do the Sharpshooters have then? An excellent query, those of you who probably wondered! And the answer is that I've not really decided! It's a fun and whimsical setting and I can assign the appropriate genitalia for whatever fetish/kink I feel like indulging in at the time.

Until next time, gentle reader. And until then, stay accurate. And quench your thirst for erotica in the fountain of purposeful porn paradoxically for proving plot points, poignantly provided at no charge. Except maybe some comments. I do looooooove comments.


	14. A Dawning Interlude

Waking up had never been easy for Novus. Despite being an undead, he slept quite often. He had slumbered through the creation of the old world. And its end.

As he yawned and stretched, careful not to accidentally dislodge Soot from his claw, Novus pondered the somber mood which had fallen on him. Though his time awake was usually sparse, recently he had found himself restless.

Novus had ever been a sentinel. The Citadel was his home since creation ordained it so. His charge was to let only the worthy command The Citadel. To protect. Guard. And serve those who came after. Undeath was necessary to control the Effluvial Tide, one of the secret defenses of The Citadel. To him, immortality was an extension of that duty. Despite not being made by Lurk or Harmony, the Dracolich recognized their rule. They had defeated him justly, and won control of The Citadel and of him.

For the most part he was content in that.

The gate at his back which led to the throne room could only open if Novus allowed it or if he was defeated in battle. Pockets of glowing miasma deposits gave the chamber a twilight illumination. All around him the rippling black stone of his arena had been carved by the Effluvial Tide like millennia of wind through a canyon. Thick Effluvial fog lapped against the walls of the cavern. The space was vast enough for him to fly unhindered and use all his available abilities to crush would-be trespassers. It was the only place in The Citadel which had been left wholly original. Completely unaltered from its shape in the deep mountains of Muspelheim.

Novus was grateful to Lurk and Harmony for that.

Yet the peculiar mood persisted even as the Dracolich tried to find the root of it. He was not an impulsive creature. Not often given over to the whims of emotion. At least, not before this new world.

How long had it been since he had gone outside? Heading to that cold norther place had been so refreshing.

As soon as he considered it, Novus dismissed the silly notion. Yet it crawled stubbornly back into his mind as a thorny vine up a trellis. Letting out an aggrieved sigh, he stood and wandered out towards the edge of his personal domain. He held Soot in his claw, almost always content in the company of Lurk's pet. Novus walked to the mouth of his cavern and looked out at the winding lava trench of the Wyvern Scar. Maybe checking in on the brooding Greater Wyverns and their clutches of eggs would make him feel better? Yet as soon as he considered it, he did not want to wake them for the sake of his own selfish melancholy. So he turned and wandered back.

Who else was awake?

Revelation struck the undead. Why did he not think of his partner sooner? With as much spring in his step as he could muster, Novus trotted through his gate down into the deepest level of The Citadel. Walking down the wide boulevard of the Hall of Memories towards his destination. Outside the entrance to the forge, Novus let out a deep breath. Although it was a bit of a tight fit, the Dracolich managed to squeeze his bulk through the door.

"Novus? What brings you here at such an hour?" The Forgemother looked down from her dais. A holographic window hovered by her head, open to a book from Cognitio that Phage had recommended on a visit.

Stunned at the elegance of her repose, Novus could have sworn that Soot had somehow grabbed hold of his tongue.

"Forgemother... Have you always been... This beautiful?"

The Relic Iron between her cobalt horns boiled a little faster and the Forgemother's tail inexplicably began waving back and forth. Extending one of her razor sharp wings, the Forgemother hid her snout and peered over top of it.

"What a strange thing to say. I mean, if you are admiring High Lord Lurk's work then I understand. I suppose. Such a while since you have come to the forge and that is how you greet me?"

"I was wondering if... Perhaps..." Novus paused, finding the question somehow difficult. "Forgemother... Dearest. Would you... Do me the honor of... Accompanying me outside The Citadel?"

"Novus, what could you possibly show me? At this hour of all times?"

"Along... My flight to that... Northern place, I flew by this... Lovely spot I think we might... Enjoy... Together. Maybe watch the sun... Rise." In an attempt to seem casual, Novus dropped the slumbering Soot in among a group of resting Forgelings.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

It had been written into them that they were a couple. Yet neither had actually met the other. It was an old remnant of another world. Another time. And it was up to the two of them whether they wanted to accept those feelings or not.

"I suppose... You could call it that." Now it was Novus' turn to pretend not to look.

Uncoiling herself, the Avatar of Metal shifted her ponderous bulk and stepped down from her throne. She tilted her head to one side and equipped a Forgemother-sized floppy sun hat, complete with black ribbon tied into a bow. A panoply of cosmetic gear sat in her inventory, courtesy of Lurk. The hat being one of her favorites after her creator had deemed it 'just too damn cute'.

On her way to the door, she rubbed her flank against Novus. His sharp sense of smell was teased by her perfume of warm brass and copper.

"I have a few more hours before my mana recharges. Shall we?"

***BSL***

Nox knew all the secret pathways and hidden alcoves in The Citadel. He would not be much of an Overseer if he did not. From one such place, hidden from most prying eyes, he watched the Novus and the Forgemother walking side by side towards the throne room teleporter.

"Now there's something you don't see every day."

"Pwah! What was that, love?" Asked Honeydew after unwrapping her tongue from around her partner. She looked up at him with the curling smile of a snake about to pounce on a meal.

"Nothing to worry about." Petting her head and guiding the Lamia maid back to his length, Nox let out a groan as she resumed polishing his spear. The shadowy Guardian quite enjoyed this maid's company. Honeydew made the cutest sounds when her mouth was full.

***BSL***

On foot, the journey would have been arduous. By dragon wing it was a casual stroll down to the park. Near the end of the mountain chain where The Citadel resided, the peaks became denser before petering off into the hilly country that separated Oxelan and Orza.

Nestled among the crags facing the sea was their destination.

On his way to Orza, Novus had been struck by a peculiar plateau's natural beauty. At some point the top part of the crag had been shorn clean, as if by a giant's razor. Time and the elements had weathered the edges smooth. The summit of the plateau was quite inaccessible to anyone without wings or climbing gear.

A titanic shift had rent a crack in the mountain, split hunks of rock from deep within jutted upward from the middle of the plateau like a stone flower. The formation was overgrown with trees that had twisted in the high altitude winds and shrubs blooming with reds and yellows. The whole scene would have been more fitting as a painting if it were not for the mild breeze making the many leaves dance atop the stone.

As Novus and the Forgemother arrived, the furthest distant horizon where sky kissed sea was beginning to glow with the coming dawn. Novus' weight flattened the hardy brush, with the Forgemother right behind him. That was not to say that they were actually alone. An entire squadron of Greater Wyverns circled overhead. After all, the Forgemother was one of the most important assets in the entirety of The Citadel.

At first the Forgemother was more intrigued in the terrain than the view. Being an Avatar of Metal came with more than just a shiny body. There was a resonance. A taste of alloy, rather than ore.

"Interesting. It appears as though some significant geological event happened here. Could it have been magical in nature? Or is this formation artificial?" Her tongue flicked the air, trying to locate the source of the strange flavor.

"It does us... No good to be out and... About, if you insist on working." Novus heaved a sigh, planting his bulk on a soft patch of clover near the edge of the crag.

"I suppose you are correct." While she begrudgingly agreed, the Forgemother still dropped a [Survey Beacon] that she or one of her Forgelings could investigate later. Though she did roll her eyes beneath her sun hat after watching Novus put forth concerted effort toward settling into his spot. She was about to tell him not to grow any moss when she heard bird song.

Though not actually a mourning dove, the species let out a similar call. The warble gave the Forgemother pause. First one, then more waking creatures joined in. Gulls and even a hawk added their voices to the chorus.

"Once, High Lord Lurk spoke of missing the sound of birds. I didn't know they could make such music. When he and Lady Harmony were in the treasury, they talked about even trees being a rare and endangered thing. Muspelheim was beautiful, though I remember little of it. There was majesty in its harshness. Life found a way there. In one form or another. The way our High Lord and Lady spoke, they made it out to seem that their world was emptier than the Glowing Sea. How barren and lonely that land of gods must have been."

For the first time, the Forgemother sat down for the sake of it, taking her place next to Novus. The heat of her was a cozy blanket, and her words a comforting pillow the Dracolich rested his head upon.

"Strange, isn't it? Without all the ash, the air is so clear. I can see so far." Just by looking out across the curve of the horizon, the Forgemother could almost hear the waves. "Hmm, but I also think the life here is... Delicate. Bountiful, sure, but... Fragile I think is the word I'm looking for. What do you think, Novus?"

"I think... You should watch the sunrise."

The sky did not catch fire. Instead it was gradual, like a field of tulips, all oranges, reds, and yellows opening their petals. Ocean waves and twilight sky bloomed with the colors of warmth. Of the gentle life that was waking up all around them.

"That sun is striking to say the least. Muspelheim was our home. And captivating in ways I don't think can be equaled. Though, maybe this land has its own special qualities. Beautiful, even."

A drowse settled on Novus and his companion's back was a wonderful place to actually lay his head.

"Mph... Beautiful." He murmured.

The Forgemother only smiled and wrapped her tail around her Novus' own.

All across the world, many people were waking up or already working. And all of them looked to the same sunrise.

***BSL***

For Nitro, the first light off the crests of the western ocean followed him up onto the Oxelan pier. He grunted in exertion as he hauled up a live Karkinos, its many legs lashed together for transport. Adjusting his monocle, Nitro heaved the prize up onto an unloaded wagon. The giant crustacean occupied an entire cart all on its own. Though three live Karkinos took up only a small part of the planned caravan.

After a quick spell to dry himself off, the Caliber Court representative to Oxelan gave a loud whistle, and the convoy began to move. Painlord at the fore, Greater Wyvern overhead, with the rest of the squad dispersed throughout.

One of the mercantile captains who had agreed to have their freight moved over land were waiting for Nitro as the train of wagons made its way out of port. The man shifted from foot to foot as he watched the cart loaded with barrels of delicate Oxelan wine go by. The vintage could not be transported by sea as the preserving spells that had to be used ruined its flavor.

"There's a lot bankin' on this caravan makin' it to Kadusia. Are ye sure yer people really 'ave a lock on the pass like y'say, Sir Nitro?" The man's inability mask the worry dragging his face to the ground was a large part of his failure at gambling.

"Not to worry, captain. I doubt the mountains have ever been safer."

"I hope that luck that saw you win that hand o' cards holds true."

"The great Lord Woodsolution always had luck on his side, m'yes. It seems fitting that in our little card game, some of that rubbed off on me, eh? You will find that friends of Black Sky Legion enjoy more than just luck. By the time I arrive back with my fellow Caliber Court, the stunningly witty Lapua Magnum's half, you will see."

***BSL***

Three-Thirty-Eight Lapua Magnum looked over the empty plot of prime inner-district real estate with an itch in her many fingers. A royally sanctioned embassy was within her grasp. All her work with Kadusia and the Seekers Guild would pay off after one more job.

As first light touched the tallest banner, Lapua lifted herself up on a wave of psionic power and zipped off to meet her team. Kadusians who saw her waved as she flew by. She alighted atop the gate where the lead wagon was waiting. The guard captain nodded in greeting and signaled his men to open the gate.

Lapua smiled in gratitude and turned to address the sizable gathering. Lapua Magnum and her squad were not the only ones playing escort. Numerous groups of Seekers had jumped at the opportunity to share in the wealth and glory offered by the many trade guilds with open contracts to make the journey over the mountains to Oxelan. Some were eager for fresh offerings in Oxelan or were looking for passage to Orza. They stood yawning and stretching, wide-eyed and grizzled. As colorful and unique as such individuals who chose the life of an adventurer were.

Lapua was succinct.

"Seekers, Kadusians, onward!"

Silver Knights and Sharpshooters took up the call.

"You heard Lady Lapua! Get this caravan moving!"

Calls of readiness went up the street. Reins cracked, wheels groaned, and Lapua floated overhead as the first wagon made its way through the open gates into the morning sun.

***BSL***

While it was not a difficult journey for either Lapua's or Nitro's team, the horses and wagons were not speedy methods of transport. It helped that the roads were once well traveled, but months of bandit vandalism had left many stretches in disrepair. The war between the Coalition and the Heymon empire had dragged on for far longer than it had in years past.

Gradually, day by day, mile by mile, the caravans made their way without incident. Once they passed the temporary perimeter watchtowers, they were within Black Sky territory. At which point it was more than Lapua's or Nitro's power watching over the wagons with all they held and represented.

Then, late in the day on the final stretch, Black Sky Legion's true holdings came into view.

Most of the men that did not have their eyes glued either to the road in front of them or the woods around them, were riveted by the behemoth fortifications growing on the mountains.

None of them were strangers to impressive stone works. Oxelan's seaside castles and Kadusia's walls were battle tested and built up over a hundred years. That was the rub though, a hundred years. The new keep and its immediate wall had appeared in scant weeks. To say nothing of the concrete bunkers and watchtowers along the roads. Work was already progressing on the next layer, with the inner bulwark's foundation being laid. Vast ravelins would soon cut down the slopes of both the Kadusian and Oxelan sides of the mountain range, with the titanic round keep at the highest point overlooking both.

A winding switchback led up to the gates of The Citadel itself. Construction on the area immediately outside the doors had progressed nicely. Entrenched Hellhammers lined the area, with more marching up the mountain. Earth had been flattened and large slabs of concrete poured, providing clear takeoff and landing for dozens of Wyverns. More were being constructed along the steeper slopes. Enough to make sure that there would not be traffic congestion even if hundreds of Wyverns were coming or going.

As the caravans grew closer, Seekers and guards looked around for the faint ringing carried on the wind.

On both sides, there were shouts and hands raised to point. At the top of the taller, sharper peak that The Citadel occupied, Lurk's [Cathedral of Brass] was visible in the clear autumn day. Gold and amber rays caught the metal buttresses so the whole Cathedral glimmered as a jewel atop a crown. As the caravans approached the meeting point, the music of the Cathedral's pipe organ became clearer.

For the first time in a long time caravans from Kadusia and Oxelan met in the middle of the pass. From then on trade through the pass would be under the protection of The Citadel. Its many guns watching over the procession.

"Nitro!"

Flying through the air, Lapua launched herself at the Minotaur. Nitro let out a boisterous laugh and spun as he absorbed the impact of his fellow Caliber Court. He gave Lapua a little toss into the air before catching her once again.

"Miss Lapua, it brightens this gentle-taur's heart to see you, m'yes." Nitro adjusted his monocle.

"It's been so long. Are you sure you have not forgotten me?" Halo flaring, Lapua could only smile.

"Not a thousand years could erase your wonderful self from memory, dear Lapua."

As the two Caliber Court exchanged pleasantries, their squads intermingled. Silver Knights banged helms while Demi-Claws exchanged secret handshakes. The two Corsairs of Nitro's group got to lavish in the accolades of bandit hunting squads that had stopped by.

Men and women, both human and not, intermingled as the wagons were moved out of the way. Horses were unhitched and watered. A well furnished rest stop had been set up so the escorts could have a warm meal and some indoor plumbing. Intermediate trading would be done between the groups. Then in the morning those heading from or returning to the respective cities would take their turn watching the cargo.

As the three wagons loaded with still quite irate giant crabs pulled up, Nitro pointed to one.

"I have a present for you, miss Lapua. A fresh Karkinos I pulled from the waves just this morning! The other two are for Lady Harmony, m'yes."

Lapua looked over to her shellfish gift with excitement. At least until her brows knit together.

"How... How do you cook something that big?"

"Ah well you just... Hm. I suppose I should have asked. Break it into pieces, I assume. Mm. Perhaps Ten Gauge would know. By his last ghoul message, it seems he has certainly been enjoying local cuisine."

They shared another laugh. Lapua broke their embrace and looked up at the Cathedral, organ music still drifting from its lofty place.

"I hope Grendel, Mags, and Fives are doing well. I want us all to hold court up there."

"I'm more than certain they are. We were given this duty by High Lord Lurk himself. There's nothing in this world that can stop us, m'yes."

Though as they talked, the first snow of autumn began to fall, with the cold breath of winter baring its teeth to drag the world to slumber. However stunning the view, it was marred by the clouds on the horizon. The clear skies were only a product of the strong cold front moving in from the north, and not a state that would last.

***BSL***

[Message]

_Lord Nox, this is Six-Five Grendel. We are under attack! My Wyvern is grounded and my squad has suffered heavy casualties. Zee enemy came out of nowhere! Dragons. Ice. Strong. I need immediate backup. Immediate backup!_

***BSL***

Author's Notes:

Hello, gentle readers!

I hope everyone is hale and healthy and home.

I think many of us had those game characters or pets or summons or whatever, that we lavished far too much attention onto. That we poured time and effort and sweat and blood and tears toward.

And I know, beyond a sliver of a shadow of an iota of doubt, that if I had created the Forgemother. (Which in a way I did, so suck it universe.) That if it were in my power to do so, she would definitely have a big floppy sun hat. And I would hope that she'd love it.

Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter of Black Sky Legion! I promise, it's gonna be a doozy.


	15. Here, There Be Dragons

Black Sky Legion

Chapter Fifteen

Here, There Be Dragons

***BSL***

Across the lands of Kadusia, Oxelan, Orza, and Deeka, winter was fast approaching.

In the north, mountains had already gained their blankets from the first snow fall. The countryside grew wilder beyond the mild hills and valleys from the bountiful lands of the city-states. The peaks grew taller and their slopes harsher.

Grendel and her team found themselves exploring those distant pockets.

Villages were secluded in the the livable areas where food could be grown during the summer months. Most subsisted off the herds of abundant animals and peculiar vegetation. Some grains that could only grow on icy lakes if they were seeded with fertilizer the year before. Fruits that clung to frozen waterfalls. The people who lived there were a hardy bunch. They had to be strong to prevail against the monsters that haunted the north.

Some of the larger fortified towns recognized Orza or Kadusia as their rulers, though rarely in more but name, hardly knowing the cities aside from a brave tax collector every year. Most of the folk who lived off the roads or frozen rivers that cut through the valleys were happy to keep it that way. Just like the others in the Caliber Court, Grendel spent a good deal of time getting to know the locals. Helping out periodically in exchange for supplies and especially information and maps.

Many a legendary Seeker had made their name by scouring the forgotten halls and ancient dungeons hidden in the chill mountains. Even more never returned from those old tombs. No one remembered the names of the kingdoms and races that came before the undead scourge of centuries past had nearly scoured the continent clean of life. So when a bird woman with a strange accent riding a peculiar dragon with winged forelimbs carrying a metal giant, elves, lizard kin, and fancy men in armor arrived in a village, the northern folk took it in their usual stride.

If only it were not so damn cold.

Grendel took a moment to rest her wings and shake the frost from them. She banked toward her Wyvern and set down at the head of the saddle, enjoying the [Warmth] that flowed through her on contact with the armored harness. Gripping the Relic Iron horn like a perch in her talons, Grendel ruffled her feathers exactly as an overgrown bird would. After folding her wings and settling herself, she pulled a spyglass from her waist.

Of the myriad of races in all the nine worlds, the Kraku was an exceptionally rare breed of Harpy. Though not for the traditional reason. As with anything and everything monster-girl related in the game, there were dedicated fanclubs to the different species. Among the self-proclaimed Harpy aficionados, Kraku were agreed to be exceptionally aesthetic in design. They were the crow subspecies, with exceptionally long, slender legs, a modest fan of tailfeathers, and well groomed ebony wings. Grendel's human facial features were slim and her skin was fair, though hidden beneath her helmet shaped into a bird skull. Numerous amulets and silver necklaces jingled against her traditional Caliber Court coat and cuirass.

What set Six-Five Grendel apart from her fellow court was the mechanical bow on her back that when extended was taller than her.

This was the root cause of the Kraku's scarcity. While Demi-Humans lacked the flexibility of human races and the more exotic specialties of Heteromorphic, they did have certain specialties. The problem lay in the Kraku's unparalleled racial bonuses to the greatbow while ironically not having enough strength to use most greatbows. If a player was determined, they could dump enough points into the stat to make the weapons usable. But that left the avatar so woefully unbalanced that picking a race without the bonus, though with higher strength, much more damage output was easily achieved.

That is, until a certain mad genius named Woodsolution from Black Sky Legion discovered that the mechanical greatbow made of ultra light composites could be used even with a Kraku's base strength. The issue then being what to do about a greatbow that could only propel the lightest kinds of arrows? Strap rockets to them of course. Because of the way the Rocketry class bonuses calculated weight against fuel and potential, Grendel could use modified versions of even the highest damage greatbow arrows and capitalize on her racial bonuses.

Though her mind wandered to the gifts her creator had bestowed, Grendel remained focused on the horizon she scanned through her spyglass. While scouting, she frequently sent messenger ghouls back to The Citadel to check on progress made on the war room map. It was a laborious endeavor. Though one that Grendel and every one of her team took great pride in. She was determined to outperform her courtly sisters scouting the south and east.

"Lady Grendel, that was supposed to be the last town, right?" Asked one of the Sharpshooters seated near the front of the saddle.

"Definitely the friendliest." Added another. Being sheltered from the worst of the wind inside the protective bubble of enchantments laid into the Wyvern's armor made it easier to talk for the group.

Grendel lowered her spyglass.

"They could afford to be with those old walls of theirs. They knew that zee ruins they had built their town on was enchanted, though they did not know where it had come from. Zee magic was very old. Khren znayet. We're looking for a big stone arch that acts like a bridge and zee top of a mountain that resembles a four-fingered hand. Supposedly there's an underground settlement beneath it, kept safe from zee winter by a hot spring that keeps zee people from freezing."

The team flew for quite some time at a modest cruising altitude when another joined them.

A dragon dipped down out of the clouds, matching speed and height with the Black Sky Wyvern. And it was indeed a dragon in the anatomical sense. Four legs and two wings, rather than the Wyvern's two legs and winged forelimbs. It was a good deal smaller, almost half the wingspan and less muscular. All whites and icy blues, the dragon had an abundance of sharp spikes. It was a Frost Dragon. One of the old rulers of the north.

"Hello! We are representatives of Black Sky Legion!" Grendel called, excitedly waving her arms in greeting. She launched off the Wyvern saddle and flew closer, repeating her hail. Grendel's team all sat up and took notice.

Only the howling wind answered. The Frost Dragon stared at Grendel as one would an incessantly buzzing fly. After a contemptible silence, the Frost Dragon turned its attention to the Greater Wyvern.

"Ra'az tul na'ssath." It hissed over the leathery snap of wings. And without further word, it banked away to the side where other Frost Dragons were beginning to gather. Dozens quickly surrounded the team on all sides.

"Lady Grendel, suul'ka." The Wyvern growled low.

Danger.

A foreboding gripped the team. Hackles of all varieties were raised as everyone gripped their weapons a little tighter. With a steady hand and a tightening in her chest, Grendel pulled her bow free, steel string pulling taut as the limbs unfolded.

When the attack finally came, it was from above.

Two Frost Dragons struck the Wyvern's wings, tearing at the membrane. As the Wyvern tried to shake them off, a third assaulted him from the front, clawing at the larger flyer's face. The four plummeted from the sky. The Sharpshooters and Silver Knights were strapped to the saddle, but unable to fight back as they struggled to stay on, clinging to their harnesses like barnacles on a ship crashing through ice. However, the Painlord's weight snapped its restraints and sent it plummeting down. Corsairs were flung free too and followed the Painlord down in streaks of emerald fire so they did not become casualties to a long fall and a short stop.

None of them knew what was waiting on the ground. The Frost Dragons had planned their attack.

Grendel knocked an arrow from the quiver on her hip and drew back the string of her greatbow. Limbs taller than the Kraku bent back with a groan under the strain. The arrow had an elongated tip, complete with vented nosecone that housed the warhead and small boosters that would do most of the work of propelling the arrow. She aimed at one of the Dragons that was circling above her falling team.

"[Target Lock]."

The spell slid off the Frost Dragon like oil on water and found no purchase.

"What?" Grendel was not at all prepared for this. There was magic or abilities that existed back in YGGDRASIL that could defend someone from being targeted by magic and simply stop it dead. This was unlike anything the Kraku knew. It fought and writhed against her. Slippery as an eel and infuriatingly resilient.

Snapping fangs came within a few feet of her as the avian warrior only narrowly avoided being grabbed in a Frost Dragon's jaws.

Purely on reflex she launched her arrow with only the aim of her eye. Though her spell might not have found purchase, her arrow found its mark in the Dragon's shoulder, blowing open a not inconsequential wound. Enough at least for the beast to howl in pain and drop out of the fight.

Grendel had only bought herself a moment. They swarmed around her, swiping with claws, tails, or trying to snatch her out of the sky with their teeth. She had to bank hard, sacrificing altitude for speed. Magic that she did not recognize tried to skewer her with shards of ice or knock her down with freezing wind. Without much recourse, she loosed as many arrows as she could. Black clouds of smoke and angry streaks bloomed in the sky as proximity fuses on some arrows and seeker tips on others tried to fend off the tide.

Things were not going much better for the rest of her team.

Flailing as he fell, the Greater Wyvern tried to shake off his attackers. A quick gout of flame discouraged the attacker at his face. Turning his fall into a forward roll, he managed to rip the Frost Dragon off one of his wings while desperately trying to flap the other. Talons sheathed in Relic Iron dug deeply into the Dragon with raw hydraulic might. The Wyvern was then able to hold one wing out enough to slow his fall. At least so that it was not lethal for him or the squad desperately clinging to his back. He also used the unfortunate Dragon's body to absorb the rest of the impact, crushing its chest into the mountain slope.

They landed low on the mountain where the snow was still shallow. Silver Knights and Sharpshooters leapt free while the Wyvern grappled. Baggage and provisions spilled from the saddle as the Greater Wyvern rolled, using its superior weight to get the last Frost Dragon off of itself. Sharpshooters fired at the Dragon through what openings they could while the Silver Knights formed up to protect their scaly teammates. Even as the Wyvern savaged his final attacker, two more came from above.

Roaring flame consumed the first one as the Black Sky Wyvern unleashed a full-throated attack, easily reaching much further than the Frost Dragon could retaliate. Snow melted and hide bubbled as a charred mess crashed to the uncaring earth. The second one saw its partner engulfed and arrowed straight at the Wyvern. Claws and spines shrieked across thick armor plates but could find no give.

A shrill horn that begged totemic mountain gods bear witness was carried by the wind and heralded a new threat.

Snow Orcs. Their throaty bellows carrying through the crisp air, audible above even the leathery snap of the Frost Dragons overhead. Most of them were mottled greys or blues to blend in with their environment. Standing head and shoulders taller than a normal man, they were broad-shouldered slabs of muscle. Though they were decorated in tribalistic wolf pelts and leathers, the weapons in their hands were clean steel.

Most importantly, several hundred of them were charging up the mountain toward the team. Silver Knights responded with their own warcry and ran down to intercept the hostile force to buy time. Leading with their spears, the armored fist of Black Sky blunted the charge and bloodied the nose of the enemy. They planted their feet and dug in to hold as a knot of shields the Snow Orcs would have to work around. Momentum was a fickle mistress, and the Orcs did not die easily. The Knights had to stab some foes repeatedly, angling to strike vital areas while more foes piled against their wall.

Type Ninety-Nines banged out their faithful beat, shots taking off the heads of Snow Orcs trying to surround the Silver Knights. Though it was apparent that four rifles were not going to stem the flow.

A brave Demi-Claw ran back underneath the team's Wyvern where supplies dangled from the saddle webbing and cut free a weapon case with a Type Fifty inside. Other cases and crates fell into the snow, joining the mishmash that had come loose in the Wyvern's scuffle. As the Demi-Claw ran clear, the Wyvern reared up to meet an attack head on as yet another Frost Dragon barrelled into the wall of interlocking armor plates that was the Wyvern's chest. Talons raking the ground, the Wyvern braced and rewarded his overconfident enemy with a blast of fire that painted the scorched snow red.

Sounding akin to hail on a metal roof, the Greater Wyvern was subjected to a barrage of magic. He roared his challenge to the sky and all its wretched contenders, blocking out the pain of his torn wing membrane as two more Frost Dragons dove down to meet him. Above, Grendel had managed to avoid and evade the worst thrown at her. Even killing a few enemies for their trouble. Not enough for her to break away and provide any help. Though at least she and the Wyvern kept a good deal of attention on themselves so that the team had more breathing room.

Working quickly, the Sharpshooter who had retrieved the Type Fifty got the weapon unpacked. A second Demi-Claw abandoned her rifle to act as the loader. The Sharpshooter laid on the triggers in long bursts. Heavier fire lanced through scores of Snow Orcs on either flank just as they threatened to fully encircle the Knights. With ballistic support, the Silver Knights may have been able to hold out long enough for the Painlord and Corsairs to turn the ground battle in their favor.

Foregoing pursuit of Grendel, a Frost Dragon dropped into a hover above the tide of Snow Orcs and unleashed its breath attack.

Silver Knights squared up their shields, Black Sky crest proud on their face.

As if it would have made a difference.

Infused with the wild magic of the northern Dragons, the breath swirled with tendrils of malefic power that went around their shields. The attack caught every suit of Living Armor, with the spirits animating the suits coming undone before its gale. As they died, the proud winged helms and burnished plate crumpled in the wake of the cold. A few score of the Orcs were caught in the blast and the force grew only more frenzied as a result.

Sweeping the path of its attack up the slope, two of the Sharpshooters were felled as well.

The Type Fifty gunner could only spare half a glance to his squadmate.

"Shit, shit, shit, Gamma, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Rho. Keep going." Gamma gasped, struggling to keep ammunition fed to the Type Fifty even as numbness spread through her side. Blackness swallowed Gamma's vision and she struggled to stay awake as she grew so cold it seemed warm.

Even from a distance, the Painlord and Corsairs were able to see the deadly cone of whirling blues from the Frost Dragon's breath attack. They were stuck fighting low in the valley through another warband of Snow Orcs, trying to reach their comrades embattled on the slope. There were more Orcs waiting to join the battle on the slope and the trio were having to fight for every step gain as the enemy did not die easily. Even necrotizing ash flower poison or [Blood Lightning] took more time and effort than it should have to put down a Snow Orc. [Napalm] worked well to clear the way, but the Construct's display of fire drew more dangerous attention.

Another flyer broke off from the aerial fight and swooped down to deal with the Painlord.

Its many blue and white spines glowed with the wild soul that lived in the north. Wind shifted. Strange magic tainted the air, dancing streaks of chill color from a world before it knew the sun, light, and warmth. Pointed spears of ice coalesced around the Frost Dragon before the beast hurled them at the embattled trio.

The Painlord raised an arm, summoning active barriers against spells and projectiles.

Unfortunately, the two spells could not mix. Passing right through the rippling wall, the spears impacted the Painlord and shattered against the ground, glass shrapnel ricocheting in all directions. The Corsair's backs were turned, firing their carbines into the Orcs. They may have survived if they had turned into their flame form, but the trust in their Construct protector was absolute.

Though the Painlord's chest bore new dents, its integrity held. Its attention and concern went to the Plague Elves, laying still on the uncaring ground. Their traveling gear was in tatters, their carbines fallen from lifeless hands.

A new sensation wove its sickly fingers through the Painlord's machine mind. Something that boiled and seethed. Bitter grief and hollow loss.

Rage.

[Impalement] rippled out from the Painlord's feet, breaking the pile of ice that had formed and carving a path through the Snow Orcs surging towards it. Holding its long spear over on shoulder, the Construct waited for its chance as the Frost Dragon circled back for another barrage. Seizing the chance when the Dragon took a head on course. Taking two steps and twisting hard, the Painlord put its whole body into the throw with all the might its mechanical limbs could muster.

Whistling a wicked pitch, the spear pierced through the Dragon's midsection, with the tip emerging out the back of the flyer in a spurt of gore. Howling at the injury, the Dragon tried to abort its attack run.

It would not get away so easily.

To a being that saw and understood the world through magic, the Painlord could tell that directly targeting the Frost Dragon with spells would be difficult. In a bit of intuitive cleverness, the Construct cast [Gravity] not on the Dragon, but on the impaling spear. Living up to its namesake, the Construct dragged its target from the sky with a particularly vicious twist of its hands, making sure that the weapon would not slide free before it was time.

Dragging its enemy down was no easy task. While smaller than the Greater Wyvern, the Dragon was still many times the size of the Construct. Like reeling in a trophy fish, the Painlord had to tug and twist at the invisible line of [Gravity] connecting it to the spear, making sure that each motion embedded the weapon further. Skidding through the snow, the Dragon threatened to drag the Painlord into the sky until the Construct hooked its feet underneath the long metal stakes.

Lower and lower, the Frost Dragon tried to flap free as its tail nearly touched the ground, directly over the unyielding points of [Impalement]. Dark ichor flew in all directions as its wingbeats served to scatter its blood from the ever-widening wound. Its own nature actually worked against it, as the blood did not coagulate so much as freeze, helping hold the spear in place.

Leading it left, then right, the Painlord got the Dragon to overcompensate on one side, causing it to lose control and crash. Blood pooled beneath the fallen beast, skewered entirely through the wing it had landed on and much of its side. Leaping onto its screeching and struggling target, the Painlord used the spear still jutting out of its middle to hold on.

Only once immobilized did the Painlord clench its fists and set to killing its enemy properly.

With more than thirty Frost Dragons on her tail, Grendel desperately messaged The Citadel. Repeated magic attacks were chipping away at her maneuverability, her wings sluggish and heavy from caked on ice.

[Message]

_Lord Nox, this is Six-Five Grendel. We are under attack! My Wyvern is grounded and my squad has suffered heavy casualties. Zee enemy came out of nowhere! Dragons. Ice. Strong. I need immediate backup. Immediate backup!_

_Hold on, Grendel. Help is on the way._

[End Message]

She broke the connection, not able to risk more than the few precious seconds it had taken to call for help.

Still embattled up the mountain, Rho laid on the butterfly trigger the hastily mounted gun, dumping everything he had into the Snow Orcs. He kept the trigger of the Type Fifty pressed down until the ammunition belt clinked empty, the last bit of brass spat out to join the pile. He turned to Gamma, about to ask for more, only to find her slumped over the empty box, eyes glazed over.

There was no window to mourn.

Rho flung himself backwards.

Hard packed ground and sparse snow broke his fall as the icy breath of the Dragon's second pass missed him by the narrowest margin. All the heat in his body felt as though it had been sucked from him. A cacophony of screams from the Snow Orcs and screeching iron surrounded him. The team Wyvern was beginning to tire as it grappled with two more Dragons, their talons raking across armor plates. As the Sharpshooter watched, the Wyvern grabbed one of it attackers by the shoulder and savagely shook its foe.

Throwing a look skyward, Rho tried to judge how much time he had until icy death came to claim him as well. The answer was soon. Though he was just a Sharpshooter, Rho would not go down without a fight.

Cases and crates were scattered everywhere. There had to be something. Anything.

_ There!_

An obsidian glint offered salvation. Rho sprinted over, nearly tripping over himself as he skidded to a halt in front of the broken crate. Spilling out were smaller, jet black cases containing rifle grenades of a very particular pattern. Rho cracked the seal and unlatched the padded box. In the crystal container of the weapon's body swirled liquid so dark it swallowed light. An arcane contact detonator flashed on the end of it, just waiting to be armed.

[Implosion] ordnance. Straight from the great forge of The Citadel. With shaking claws, Rho took the grenade from its cradle and locked its stem into the barrel of his rifle. The detonator shifted from its blinking green to a steady red.

The enemy's wing beats drew close.

Rho turned, going down on one knee to steady his front heavy Ninety-Nine. Danger close, the Frost Dragon was getting ready. The Sharpshooter did not trust himself to hit a moving target like the dragon in the eye or heart. But with a little help, he could make sure it was a headshot.

"[Aim]."

Fwoomp!

The grenade was away, and stuck the ice dragon's jaw. A small splash of dark, released from its containment was the only warning. [Implosion] crushed flesh and bone alike. A thunderclap reverberated as air and matter filled the negative space. Less than a second later, a decapitated Frost Dragon tumbled down the mountain.

Right after, the Type Ninety-Nine fell to pieces, its durability consumed as payment for using the high level grenade.

Heedless of the display, the Snow Orcs had not stopped. If anything, they seemed even more maddened than before.

Rho needed another gun. Though he did not think a Ninety-Nine would cut it. However, this time he felt a pull. A call in the roots of his soul. His attention was inexorably drawn to another treasure spilled haphazardly in the snow. Just like the other away teams, High Lord Lurk saw fit to arm each with an armory crate holding a variety of different weapons for the teams to experiment. Or to tackle special problems.

Praying for a fraction of his Lord's wisdom, Rho ran to his next sliver of hope. Throwing open the substantial crate, all manner of esoteric firearms lined the inside. Along with one that called out to Rho. Even with his life on the line, the Sharpshooter reverently freed a sleek silver battle rifle. Despite being half the length and weight of a Ninety-Nine, he had never held such a solid piece of hardware.

Though he did not know it, the gun was a Baneslayer rifle. As the Sharpshooter lifted the weapon it hummed to life, emitting an affirmative chirp as Rho slammed in a charge pack from a bandolier he then threw over one shoulder. Coils underneath the barrel began to glow with a white hot blue. The Demi-Claw should not have been strong enough to wield a Baneslayer. Under normal circumstances at least.

The Snow Orcs were closing, snarling and frenzied. Survivors trampling the remains of the Silver Knights as the front line pushed up the mountain.

In answer, Rho lifted the Baneslayer to his shoulder and fired. He was not expecting for the rifle to shoot a bluish white beam of light that cut through Snow Orc shield, weapon, and flesh. An enervated _crack_ accompanied the shot. Discipline took hold and Rho moved the firing selector to auto, pouring shots into the mob until his charge pack ran dry. Even still, the Snow Orcs pressed on. Rho was on his own, after all, loading another pack. And although his end was inevitable, he prepared to sell his life dearly.

The Snow Orcs brayed at the last defender. At last the Orc's own archers and casters found their range and soon arrows thudded into the ground around the Sharpshooter.

"'Till Black Sky comes!" Rho roared back.

And Black Sky answered.

A series of booms louder than all the rest drew the eye of every combatant as a comet broke through the lower atmosphere. Fighting paused as the ball of fire approached, searing a trail across the sky as it curved impossibly toward the scene of battle. Two-hundred feet from the ground, the comet burst, revealing Harmony, glowing like a spacecraft on reentry.

[Phoenix Flight] was a spell dating back to YGGDRASIL's launch. Lurk was not the only one with special movement abilities.

Harmony's impact was imminent when she gave a single flap of her wings. The force of her landing kicked up a wave of snow that vaporized to steam due to her proximity. Standing between the surviving Sharpshooter and the encroaching Snow Orcs, she spared a quick glance at the barbarian mob before her attention turned to the embattled Wyvern. Lifting a hand, she made a pulling gesture.

[Cindervines] sprung from the ground, yanking the two Frost Dragons off the battered Greater Wyvern. Roots as thick as the Dragon's torsos pinned them to the ground as they struggled against the burning wood. The Greater Wyvern fell on them with a vengeance, tearing open exposed throats. Fresh [Fury Plates] shimmering up her wrists, Harmony focused on the next threat.

Snow Orcs cautiously approached the unnatural caster. They were wary of magic at the best of times. And the new arrival demonstrated foreign incantations, anathema to their land of ice and snow. A combination of her pyromancy and draconic wings at last gave the Orcs pause. Harmony was still incandescent around the edges from her meteoric entry, Grand Alliance cherry red in places. While the enemy found their nerve, she equipped her helmet and lowered the slotted visor. It fit neatly around the base of her horns and through a bit of enchantment, did not impede her vision while she wore it.

"[Molten Edge]." Whirling Ebony and Ivory up into her armored hands, the enchantment fell on her axes. The curved blades began to glow with heat until embers bled from their edges. "[Scarlet Mantle]. [Soul of Cinder]. [Sparta's Red Oath]. [Crown of Ishkala]". As she took a combat stance, her horns grew longer with ethereal flame while the ends of her hair glowed until she embodied a walking inferno, topped with the bloody crown of an old goddess.

The Orcs were not the only ones to notice Harmony's arrival. A Frost Dragon dove downward and banked just over the battle line, drawing up to hover in order to strike the small target. Before it could breathe in to attack, the Frost Dragon exploded. Specifically, it was hit by a trio of small explosives in such rapid succession that it seemed to detonate in one rippling bang. The Frost Dragon was killed as the first [Flak] shell shredded its chest and head. The next two shots flensed scale to hide to muscle and left a mangled carcass whose remains fell among the Snow Orcs below.

Unconcerned and undaunted by the show, Harmony finished buffing herself.

Out of the light she shed in radiant flickers, Crisis stepped from a [Heavensgate] that flared and vanished. From a shadow that passed overhead, Nox rose. The two Guardians stepped up to either flank of their Queen.

"Nox, Crisis, find and protect the survivors." The scowl in Harmony's voice was audible even through her helmet.

"Yes, my Lady." Nox answered, melting to the mountainside while Crisis flashed forward through bright teleport blinks as the brothers searched for anyone still alive.

Only then did the Queen of Black Sky attack, each swing of her axes casting off arcs of fire that left naught but ash in her wake.

While Harmony brought fire to the earth, Lurk split the heavens.

Tearing off Mask of the Unbound in favor of Fulminator, Lurk processed the situation as he flew. Mask of the Fulminator boiled on his face as he brought Entropy to his shoulder. Radial targeting arrays appeared and evaporated around his head as Lurk assessed threats as fast as his eyes could move. He could plot flight paths and trajectories just fine, yet the Frost Dragons were tricky. Slippery. His magic had trouble finding a hold on them. [True Discernment] and [Data: Life] returned garbled, nonsensical results.

"[Eight-Fold Mark]."

Abilities seemed to work fine as the Tetragrammaton Cleric skill manifested around the remaining Frost Dragons in blocky bullseye symbols. As if it was just YGGDRASIL magic that had trouble latching onto them. Though based on the Frost Dragon he had blown to pieces with [Flak] it seemed that they were not immune to the effects of the spells themselves. Whatever the case, Entropy and Sovereign skills had no trouble.

Which meant that his old Wyvern Peak clearing mainstay should work fine.

Mask of the Celestial, all ivory and gold filigree wrapped his muzzle. His halo split into segments as he tagged twenty of the Frost Dragons through the golden overlay on his vision, the [Eight-Fold Mark] making the effect nearly instantaneous.

"[Hammer of Judgement]." Lurk beheld his enemies, and bid them to ruin.

Thin and blindingly bright beams light shined from far above, punching holes through the clouds and zeroing in on the backs of the Frost Dragons through the lens of the floating bullseye targets. The beams grew more intense in seconds, beginning to scorch whatever they touched. Without augment, the Dragons would have just been able to dodge out of the way.

Many of the Frost Dragons that were targeted began flying towards Lurk at great speed. Normally, [Hammer of Judgement] could only hit grounded objects. It was meant as a siege ability to combat static defenses. Macrosunder gave it a disgustingly powerful fifty percent boost in damage and speed while Deadeye along with the Odin's Eye ring afforded Lurk the flexibility to target and track flying enemies. It used double the charge from Mask of the Celestial, but the tradeoff was too strong to ignore.

Unfortunately for the flyers, as frantically as they tried to evade, there was no escape.

When the [Hammer of Judgement] fell along the paths of the tracking beams, columns of solidified light as wide as a Wyvern wing and a hundred times their height crushed the Frost Dragons. At the precise moment of impact, pure kinetic energy transferred from the spell forms into the targets and the light dissipated.

Awed at her High Lord's display, Grendel was not out of the fight. She drew back the string of her Rocket Bow.

"[Rocketry Expert: Cluster Missile]." Her single arrow split, then split, then split again. The swarm of explosives left trails of angry black smoke which wove through the columns of solid light, sending another three Frost Dragons tumbling out of the sky. With her High Lord and Lady watching, Grendel could not let the legacy of her own creator be tarnished in their eyes.

Many of the Dragons struck by the [Hammer of Judgement] were contorted into macabre shapes, while some lost whole pieces. All of them were ejected from their airspace with such force that whatever was left became gore-stained craters in the snow.

Only four enemy flyers remained. Whether through determination or spite, they seemed committed to at least kill Grendel before their own end. The Kraku was vulnerable, barely hovering after putting the last of her energy into her [Cluster Missile] with the Frost Dragons closing the noose.

Fulminator boiled faster, sheathing Lurk's muzzle in a violent conflagration of targeting vectors.

"[Rapidfire Augment: Faceoff]."

Back in YGGDRASIL, the ability would hit foes automatically. Instead, the world around Lurk slowed to a crawl as his Tetragrammaton bullet time kicked in. While advantageous, he did not have forever. It was enough to place three shots through the bullseye symbols still present. Light's Inversion had a unique interaction with Lurk's time manipulating abilities. When active, the core teleported the bullet upon leaving the muzzle to within arm's length of the target.

Lurk had fought dragons for too long, in too many situations and in too many different scenarios to not have special ammunition for dealing with them. Lurk knew better than anyone that a dragon's major weakness was piercing damage. A light jacket of Darksteel penetrated the outer scales and was shed upon entry to reveal the dense Adamantium core.

Two to the head. One to the heart.

Bullet time from [Faceoff] expired and the last Frost Dragons tumbled down with fresh holes vented in their skulls.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Lurk pulled alongside Grendel and looked down to see if Harmony needed any support.

"[Lava Avalanche]."

At Harmony's command the mountain split, the earth bleeding from its ruptured skin as lava flowed freely down into the enemy. Snow Orcs that were not fast enough were wholly engulfed. Harmony walked casually through liquid rock up the rock promontory that jutted out from the fountainhead of the flow. None of the surviving Snow Orcs could break a single [Fury Plate] off the Scalebound if they tried and she did not want to waste time chasing down the last of them with her axes.

She had burned her way to the resting place of her Silver Knights and mantled her wings out as a display of pride and challenge.

One knot of resistance remained. On a shrinking island surrounded by rivers of lava, a tiny handful of Orcs rallied around their casters. In a last ditch effort, the Snow Orc shamans pooled their collective mana to try and strike down the axe whirling pyromancer.

Blue-white beams perforated the offending casters and their bodyguards just as Harmony debated skewering the lot with more spells. Rho made liberal use of his Baneslayer, cutting down any Snow Orcs daring to try and attack Harmony. He had burned through several charge packs, but many more still hung from his bandolier. As long as the Sharpshooter still drew breath, his Fair Lady would not stand alone.

After the final Orcs died or fled, the battlefield at last settled.

Where once sat a tranquil mountain slope and peaceful valley, there was now a cratered wreck. Lava popped as it bubbled and solidified.

The ragged casualties of Grendel's squad regrouped to pick up the pieces. Harmony trotted over to the injured Greater Wyvern, casting healing magic as she went. Rho was right on her heels. First was [Warmth] which summoned a tiny orb that hovered at her shoulder, providing regeneration within its radius while Harmony used more concentrated magic to stitch up the Wyvern's torn wings. Lurk helped Grendel to land by Harmony and benefit from [Warmth] as well.

Grendel sat down hard, fat tears welling up as her voice warbled.

"I... Have disgraced zee name of Black Sky. I have failed, High Lord. Fair Lady. How can this foolish squawker... Redeem herself?" The Kraku sobbed, clutching her bow with one hand while trying to wipe her eyes with the other.

"Grendel! Hey, are you okay? Where are you hurt? Let me get a look at'cha." Harmony took off her helmet. Not so she could see better, the armor was enchanted after all. It was to give Grendel a smile, making everything several degrees better. The cold which had been eating into the Kraku's being melted before the healing warmth that emanated from the Queen of Black Sky.

Despite not being full healed yet, the Greater Wyvern rotated his bulk to where Harmony tended to Grendel and formed his large wings into a leathery tent around them. A streak of light traced its way to the group and Crisis stepped out before the team Wyvern. He wasted no time giving his own recounting of events as the mute Guardian dutifully listened.

Mostly to keep himself busy, Rho stood guard, ready to defend his Fair Lady and squad leader to the death. And so that some of the heat cast off might chip away the rime clinging to his soul.

Lurk wrinkled his nose at the burning alcohol smell. Though that was not the only reason he left the makeshift shelter. A shadow flitted up the slope, dipping in and out of the craters.

"How are we looking?" Asked Lurk as soon as Nox formed.

After giving a quick salute, Nox returned his hand to Echo of Damnation.

"We seem to be clear, High Lord. No dragons. No orcs as far as I can tell. More might be coming. We did cause a bit of a ruckus. I suggest you and Lady Harmony return to The Citadel, where it's safe."

"Ten Gauge should be able to get to us the quickest." Lurk continued as he disregarded Nox's last statement. "I want him here as quick as he can. Make sure he know these dragons are a threat. Did anyone else from Grendel's squad make it?"

Shaking his head, Nox gripped his shotgun tighter, then gestured to a figure coming up the mountain.

"Only one."

Marching slowly, the Painlord carried a dead Corsair in each hand. The Construct had failed. Failed to protect them. Failed its purpose. Most galling, it had maintained structural integrity. There was a shallow gash along its smooth face and a [Napalm] rod had been damaged. Other than that, there was nothing to show for the punishment it had endured.

With great care, the Painlord laid the bodies in a clean patch of snow. Kneeling, it touched two fingers to its brow then to its chest. After this gesture, it clasped its hands together as if in prayer. Even though it did not fully understand why, the motion felt right. All its remaining spell charges became Blood Gems, given to the dead as proof of their might. Correct observance to a ritual. It went down on both knees. It did not understand. Despite the appeasement, the Painlord still had a fault within its machine intelligence.

Opening and closing its hands over and over until its joints whined in protest, it was left to wonder. Knowing why they were empty. Yet, why were they empty?

Its spiral of thoughts were interrupted as the Painlord sensed the presence of another. It looked up and saw its creator god standing close enough to touch, the Ancient Incarnate's claws reaching out, palms open. He kneeled down too, opening and closing his fingers over the fallen Corsairs. The Painlord followed along, slower. Lurk repeated the ritual next. Two digits to the head, chest, then claws clasped together. Though no words passed between them, spoken, psionic, or otherwise, they shared a moment of stillness to honor the fallen. All life of the fourth floor, mechanical though it was, shared a connection with their creator deeper than most.

Lurk looked out to the rest of the field, then up to the Painlord.

His Construct understood, and set out to gather the honored dead. They would be returned to The Citadel for proper funeral rights once it was safe to do so.

Nox put two fingers against his temple as he communed with Crisis for a moment. He spoke with a hard edge, biting down on each word.

"Grendel's Wyvern says that they were caught by surprise. He called them Frost Dragons. They were flying along when the first one pulled up to them and called the Wyvern a... Slur that doesn't translate well. Grendel's team was wary, but didn't know what to expect. Dozens of the bastards had them surrounded by the time they finally attacked. The Frost Dragons must have been waiting until they were near these Snow Orcs before driving them to the ground. This was planned."

With his claws occupied by Entropy, Lurk could only work his jaw thoughtfully.

"If our enemy is that smart, then we definitely need more information. Skitharix might be able to get something out of some of the dead Orcs."

"I... A thousand apologies, High Lord. I don't think he could." Bowing his head, Nox could barely countenance the idea of disappointing his creator, even if he had no control over the situation.

"What do you mean?" Although he was quite on edge, eyes darting between the ground and sky, Lurk's voice betrayed none of the tension knotting his shoulders.

"The souls from all the Snow Orcs are gone. I tried summoning shadow demons while there were some that still needed killing and I couldn't. There was nothing to feed them to get any formed."

"Are you saying someone cast [Soul Extinguish] on them?"

"No, High Lord. It's hard to explain. It feels more like anti-necromancy measures. But... The magic is..."

"Slippery?"

"Yes! That's exactly what it felt like."

"We're always left in the dark." Growling in agitation, Lurk pushed aside the problem and focused on a solution. His scaly brow furrowed so low he feared it might get stuck that way. Lying dead in the snow were an alien species of dragon that wielded magic that was not Tier which produced effects they did not understand. This situation required caution. They could ill afford to go stumbling around blindfolded looking for nails with their feet.

"I want these dragon bodies brought back to The Citadel. And, souls or not, call Skitharix. Tell him I want a recovery team sent here as quickly as possible. Give him your best estimate on the size of the corpses and how many there are. Make sure he sends enough Flayers and Greater Wyverns to get everything in one trip. I'm sure we can still learn valuable information from studying the bodies. About this strange magic they have. We'll see if their parts can be used to make any defense against it. After all, the best protection against a fire dragon is armor made from them."

Nodding at his Lord's gospel, Nox mirrored Lurk's stance and grip.

"Ten Gauge mentioned in his latest report that the cloaks and coats from the Platinum Wyrms has proven to be extraordinarily resilient to the elements. And that was made by just a Flayer. Between Skitharix and the Forgemother, if there is an answer in these bastard's hides, they'll find it."

A grander strategy was gradually forming in Lurk's mind. As he always did, for a dozen different reasons, he looked over to Harmony as she finished healing Grendel's squad.

"Speaking of Ten Gauge, [Message] him with our coordinates and have him make all speed here. He's the closest so it shouldn't take him long. There's a cohort of Painlords waiting for my signal to [Gate] in. They should be ready by now. As soon as Ten Gauge evacuates the injured, the cohort will protect the site until the recovery team gets here so we don't attract any more attention than we already have."

Sensing the intensity of her husband's gaze, Harmony looked his way. She gave a subtle tilt of her head upwards and he returned a nod. Harmony patted Grendel's hand and broke away as she and Lurk flew a little ways up to talk privately.

"You alright, hun?" She asked first.

"I'm fine. What about you?" Hovering with slow beats of their wings, Lurk snagged a lock of Harmony's hair, letting it slide through his claw back onto their symbol on the chest of her armor. He found comfort in her radiance.

"I'm good. But..." Harmony's bloody crown dripped as she watched the Painlord adorn the fallen with gems.

"Can you resurrect them?"

"No. I can't feel their souls. There's this strange smell. It's coming from those Frost Dragons. Like cold copper and wet dirt."

"I was afraid you'd say that. It's more of a feel for me. Nox said that he couldn't summon any shadow demons off of them. And up in the air, it was really weird. Like they were slippery. My magic couldn't lock on to them. Abilities worked fine, and they seem weak to physical damage. It's not killing them that has me worried. It's them killing us. Their magic hit Demis, Knights, and Plague Elves hard. I know they're dragons, but still."

"Dragons were the strongest enemies back in YGGDRASIL. It makes sense that they're the strong here too. Other than the weird magic, these seemed rather small. Most of the time a dragon's power is based on age, right? And the older they get the bigger they are. With a few exceptions." Smiling softly, Harmony traced a finger down her Ancient Incarnate's horns.

"Maybe they're more constrained here because there's not enough food for them to grow to their full size. Or these are just young. Magic can't target them directly, but can be indirectly aimed towards them. Physical armor works okay, but magic defense does nothing. And they seem weak, or at least vulnerable, to piercing damage. Either way, we can't afford to just throw away lives. Especially if we can't bring them back."

"As you said, they're not invincible. If a Demi-Claw can kill one, then I don't think we have to worry."

"What? Really?" Pulling on Mask of the Psion, Lurk turned his attention to the Sharpshooter in question.

"When I was with Grendel, he mentioned it to me. That he was thankful that you sent the [Implosion] weapons."

Lurk banished the mask and stroked his chin.

"I know that look. What are you thinking?"

"That Sharpshooter, he's using one of the foundry weapons I sent the teams with. And he's gained levels. A good deal of them."

"I thought we reached the level cap of The Citadel."

"I thought so too. Do you think the transfer removed it? Or is it because we're outside The Citadel? Whatever the case may be, does that mean we can get groups of Sharpshooters together and get them trained into more advanced job classes?"

Whether or not they needed such measure lay smoldering in craters all around them.

"Why Sharpshooters? Shouldn't we diversify?"

"Sharpshooters first because they're the lowest level. Less experience for more gain. Especially in a group." Lurk surmised.

"Not necessarily." Harmony countered.

"Oh? Then what are you thinking?"

"Leveling might be easier, but it's also going to be the most dangerous for them. The simplest way would just be to grind monsters, but they're not players who can just die over and over. Even if we could resurrect them, the experience penalty is steep."

"And the bandits are finally starting to thin out... I see your point."

"Unless we can find a, I don't know, goblin spawner or something, I think we should invest in our higher level guys. Unless you just want to pour gold into summoning a bunch of Demi-Claws and just have them PVP each other." Harmony heaved a sigh and gave a hundred pound shrug at the conundrum.

"You know... that's not actually a bad idea."

"Lurk! That's horrible. I was joking."

"No, no, no. I meant the PVP part. Phage... Phage wanted to spend some time with me on her floor. She has her Corsairs doing exercises with training bolts. Ah, shit, help me. There were activities back in YGGDRASIL that gave experience but were non-lethal." Wracking his brain, Lurk tried to remember the most lucrative of all the silly events that had come and gone through YGGDRASIL's long history.

"We could just have them do snowball fights."

"What is snowball hit worth? Two or three points? So they'd only have to throw a few million snowballs to level up. There were a few events that always surprised us with the XP it gave. What were they?"

"Cupid's Arrow?"

"No, that was a one-time thing. Once the event was over all the bows disintegrated."

"Yeah, and you got the pink armor tint I wanted. Snotling racing?"

"I bet it would be easy to set up a race track. But where would we get the Snotlings? Besides, Warg racing was better."

"Rock Drake racing was best."

"This is true. I miss those." It was easy to fall down the pit of nostalgia, but Lurk remained resolute.

"Capture the flag... It wasn't Trials of Odin was it?"

"Definitely not. That wasn't an event. We don't actually want them killing each other, remember. I don't remember how much XP capture the flag gave."

"Right, right. Not Crystal Lizard Frenzy. Not the Cherry Blossom Festival. What gave XP? Not that stupid painting competition thing."

"Paint... Paint... Paintball! Of course!" Revelation struck Lurk in a nerve-electrifying bolt. He snapped his claw and clenched it in triumph.

"You got really good at that one." She giggled softly at his antics.

They shared an intimate smile, lost for a moment in each other and all the time they had spent in the many worlds they had frequented. Both then looked out at the newest world, feeling the somber weight of the battle's aftermath and bearing the burden together.

Not everyone had that shoulder to lean on.

Freezing from the ankle down, Rho stood over the covered bodies of his squad. Demi-Claws he had known since waking up. Silver Knights that had called him brother. Plague Elves he had laughed, shared with in competition and success. Death was not a new concept to him. He understood it well, as well as his role in delivering it to the enemies of Black Sky. Suffering the death of comrades was a new sensation.

Flapping wings and snow crunching came as someone landing behind him. Though bitter tears choked him for a moment, Rho would not let his strength waver.

"I remember when Gamma and I found out we were picked for your squad, Lady Grendel. She was so excited. We talked about getting to win our own glory. Show this world what we were made of. Prove ourselves." Rho sighed, rubbing at the headache burrowing into his forehead. "I wish I could tell her that we really showed those bastards what we're made of. Right, Lady Grendel?"

The Sharpshooter's face went through a mad tumble as he turned and saw who was actually standing next to him.

"H-h-h-high-high Lord Lurk! Sir!" Rho immediately stood at attention, Bringing his Baneslayer sharply up and looking straight ahead.

"At ease. What's your name, soldier?" Having put Entropy back in his inventory, Lurk held a more resting pose, claws locked behind his back.

"Rho-Mu-Three-Zero! Sir!"

Lurk gave his Sharpshooter a quick once over. He wondered if the Demi-Claw had been given more adequate protection than the simple pants and tactical vest if it would have made a difference. If the Ancient Incarnate's foresight had been lacking, and if that had lead to the deaths in Grendel's squad. If he could have done better.

"Walk with me." Gentle, yet firm.

Taking it unequivocally as an order, Rho marched behind his creator. Together they moved to the edge of the messy slope where Harmony had cast her [Lava Avalanche]. Neither talked at first. At least it was warmer where the rock still bubbled. Lurk suppressed the urge to fidget and worry his claws. Even though they were quite a good distance away from Harmony, he still glanced over his shoulder to make sure. She was well occupied talking with Nox and Crisis near one of the dead Frost Dragons.

Pulling up the collar of his coat, Lurk cupped a claw near his mouth and spoke in a conspiratorial hush.

"Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Lord, I... I would never. Your reign is the sky." For poor Rho, he would sooner eat a Type Ninety-Nine with a fork than countenance the idea of any Sharpshooter taking offense at the actions of their High Lord.

"Thank you, just don't tell Harmony, okay?" He chuckled, like it was a secret Lurk was sharing just with Rho. The Sharpshooter was awed by this privilege and honor. As Lurk lit and took a much needed drag on a clove cigarette, he took a moment to admire the frosty landscape. The hardy green far below in the valley and the noble peaks so starkly white they bled into the clouds.

"Tell me about them."

"High Lord?" Rho hesitated.

Lurk had resumed his resting posture, claws behind his back as he admired the landscape.

"Tell me about your squad. What did they like? How did they laugh? Did you all get along? What was your best adventure together?"

Tentatively, Rho began with Gamma-Two's bravery during the fight which had claimed her life. Once he started, it grew easier to talk the longer he did so. He told Lurk at length about each individual. Each of the honorable fallen. Despite being cast from more or less the same mold, the Demi-Claws had a surprising range between them. Little quirks that made them individuals. Rho could name them all. From Gamma-Two's love of riddles, to Tau-Mu's growing cooking skill.

The whole squad had come to lean on the dependability of the Silver Knights. Their watchfulness. Their steady nature being the glue which held the different tempers together. Rho recalled how despite the immensely competitive nature of the Corsairs, he remembered them fondly. No matter how it grated on the squad at times, the drive pushed them.

Even in grief, he found room to speak of the living as well.

More than once, the Greater Wyvern had given invaluable insight and guidance. Having near perfect memory of the terrain meant that he could guide them even through the labyrinthine north. In a literal sense, he also carried their burden without struggle or complaint.

While Grendel could be a bit of a bird brain, she was always kind. Their exploration had been slowed often by helping the people of the north. By questing and adventuring. Being distracted by the less traveled roads. Because of that, they saw natural wonders. Upside down waterfalls. Fields of crystal flowers. Towns began to welcome them, having heard from the people they had aided along the way.

Rho valued all the nights spent with Grendel for many reasons. Not least of which was because she told stories from Lord Woodsolution. Laughing, Lurk confided in Rho about the creation of Grendel's signature weapon and Woodsolution's propensity towards the unorthodox.

Last, Rho talked about the Painlord. There was a certain reverence for the imposing Construct that Lurk was unprepared for. Among Grendel's squad, the Painlord was a good luck totem, indomitable protector, and in many ways a physical manifestation of Lurk's favor. They well knew that the High Lord had personally crafted each chassis and soul of the great machines. Its meditative stillness was calming while its battlefield fury inspired.

Lurk was afraid to ask if they actually prayed to the Painlord. Though it did make him wonder just how receptive the Constructs were. He had observed many unexpected behaviors among the denizens of The Citadel. Especially from the fourth floor. An unintended side effect of Lurk's decision to send out such varied teams was the insight he gained into the emerging identities of his soldiers.

"Thank you for talking about them, Rho. Carry the good with you. Remember them for that."

"Yes, High Lord." Although Rho still could not force a smile, the congealing sorrow was a bit easier to live with.

"So, can I ask about your gun?"

"I beg your forgiveness, High Lord. Please, this belongs to you." Rho dropped to one knee, offering up the Baneslayer to his creator. Lurk took the weapon, running a pensive claw over its silver body. Rho assumed his High Lord was somehow communing with the Baneslayer on a level he did not understand. In truth, Lurk was just collecting his thoughts.

"I want to ask another question. Please consider it carefully before you answer, Rho. I won't take you away from Grendel's team if it's not what you want. But I think the experience you've gained today would make you a prime candidate for becoming a Commando. The Citadel will grow. I intend to have several squads of Commandos ready to execute missions should the need arise." Lurk patted the rifle for emphasis.

"A... Commando? Me? Just like Lady Wrath." A wave of lightheadedness made Rho woozy.

"We don't know what the future will bring. No matter what happens, I want us armed against it. We _will_ be ready. And I need individuals like you, Rho, to be a part of that. Even so, I want this to be something you want. You've already proven yourself. And if you want, you can stay with Grendel."

Rho's wonder was tempered by concern. Although overwhelmed, he did as his High Lord told, and took a minute to consider what was being offered. Rho looked down at his scaly hands. Just as the Painlord did. Just as Lurk often did too. It was their way of weighing their worth. Anchoring their perspective by putting the intangible value of their effort in perspective.

"I... I do want to stay with Grendel. And I think I could still do good out here but... I also want to protect everyone in The Citadel. As you said, High Lord, we don't know what else is out there. And if I can save... For the good of Black Sky, if I become a Commando and help others do so too, then maybe I can keep another squad from going through what I did." As he talked, Rho grew more confident and found the strength to stand. He ended by looking up from his hands to meet Lurk's eye.

Now matter how many weeks passed, the lives entrusted to Lurk continued to surprise him. How many times had he made a hard choice for the sake of Harmony? All the times he had picked responsibility over comfort to secure their future. Though he did not recognize that it was his own reflection, Lurk needed no spell to read the unbroken purpose in Rho. Resolve which had seen the former human through sleepless nights and shifts spent hungry, to hold together through work beyond the limits of his flesh was mirrored back at him in miniature.

Letting one corner of his mouth curl just a little, Lurk handed back the gun. No longer just a Sharpshooter, Rho-Mu-Three-Zero accepted the boon with grace.

"This Baneslayer is in your care now, Commando. May it serve you well." He was going to let Rho keep the gun no matter what he chose. Though it was nice to put a bit more meaning behind the gesture. It would be a moment that Rho would keep close to his heart in all the days to come.

While everyone else was busy around her, Grendel wallowed in her sorrow under the Wyvern wing shelter. The Kraku suppressed another sob with a heavy sigh, burying her face in her hands and covering herself with her own feathery wings.

She was so entrenched she did not hear the leathery snap of another Wyvern landing and only shivered in the cold. It was only when a thick mantle was draped on her shoulders did Grendel look out from the mess she had made of her feathers. The freshly made Wyrm mantle immediately warmed her body. Realizing who had given it to her warmed her soul.

"No need to fret, miss Grendel. The Caliber Court watch out for each other. We are always stronger together." Ten Gauge clicked his jaw in affirmation. In a gesture of solidarity, the leader of the Caliber Court laid a gloved hand respectfully on Grendel's shoulder. His squad deployed around them, ready for anything.

"Ten Gauge, darling, I am glad to see you. Zee circumstances could be better, I am sad to say." Though she remained buried in her wilting feathers, Grendel put her hand on top of Ten Gauge's. Although the Wendigo's face was not the most expressive, he gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Shortly after the second Greater Wyvern's arrival, Lurk returned from the edge of the battle with Rho close behind. The Demi-Claw trotted ahead to stand with his squad leader one more time. The Sharpshooters of Ten Gauge's squad all embraced Rho tightly, mourning his loss with him before standing ready once again.

Harmony joined her husband with Nox and Crisis taking their own proper places as well. Hugging would have been rather awkward in their armor, so Lurk and Harmony just rubbed noses.

A messenger ghoul alighted on the Ancient Incarnate's shoulder and muttered things which were not words yet conveyed meaning. He gave the ghoul a nod and the bird settled in a contented rustle.

With everything in place, Lurk addressed his Court.

"Grendel, you are to join up with Ten Gauge in Orza."

Grendel clasped her hands, beseeching.

"Holy Lord, I have failed Black Sky Legion, I-"

Lurk cut her off.

"No, Grendel. You didn't fail. I told you to discover what lay in the north. And you did. I'm only sorry it cost lives to do so." A frown so brief it almost did not exist flashed across his muzzle. It was not her failing, it was his own.

"My Lord! I can... I can still fight."

"I know you can. These dragons are a credible threat. Though, the thing about sneak attacks is they only work once. Regardless, I'm not taking chances with this. I want you to help Ten Gauge with his work in Orza. I will send reinforcements. Fresh supplies. Weapons. Armor and equipment better suited to fighting up here will be developed. Through your sacrifice, we will find countermeasures to the enemy's magic. I need you to find out what we're dealing with. Their strength. Their numbers. And next time, we will meet the enemy on our terms."

Helical rifts opened at Lurk's back. A full cohort of eight Painlords stepped through the [Spatial Rupture] before reality healed back to normal. They stepped forward to line up behind their creator. Only the High Lord of Black Sky did not notice how the Painlords all stood with their mechanical hands interlocked behind their backs just as he did. Soldiers of the Legion big and small looked on with reverence as Harmony just smiled.

"Your duty is not done, Grendel. Assist Ten Gauge. Gather your strength. Find the nature of Black Sky's enemies. Can you do that for me, Six-Five Grendel of the Caliber Court?"

Rather than being cowed, the Kraku was uplifted by Lurk's decree. Warmed by the Wyrm mantle and steadied by Ten Gauge's strength, Grendel stood up for the first time since she had landed. Her sorrow had not left, though was a good deal easier to bear.

"Yes, High Lord Lurk." She grabbed the guild crest necklace and felt the swords, lingering on the third of her absent creator. "I will bring honor to the Zee Citadel, zee Legion, zee Court, to you, High Lord, Lady Harmony, and in zee name of Lord Woodsolution."

***BSL***

Just as he had charged Grendel, Lurk's work was far from done.

Sixty-Four chosen Sharpshooters, eight groups of eight, Wrath, Ruin, and Rho, followed their High Lord into the furthest depths of The Citadel. Located in an extra-dimensional space between the firing range and the ammunition plant of The Citadel's forge was Lurk's personal armory. His gun room. The door only appeared and opened at his presence and he ushered the group inside.

If the Hall of Memories represented the guild's history, then the contents of the gun room was a chronology Lurk's personal journey through the game. The whole space was arranged in a semicircle with the doors to the range and ammunition plant on either end of its arc with lines of racks radiating from the locus of the room. Like a conductor's podium, Lurk's workbench and fabricating stations occupied center stage.

The racks themselves reached from the floor to a ceiling that a Painlord could comfortably walk beneath and were packed full to bursting with weapons. Lurk had spent a great deal of time and currency in collecting a panoply of firearms of all shape and size to make his gun room an exhaustive display of everything YGGDRASIL could give. The weapons originated from the entire breadth of the nine worlds. Different expansions and events. Different metas and strategies. Twelve years of late night gaming devoted to that goal. All of Lurk's years of collecting. Success and failure both.

They were organized, though only sparsely labelled. The room was intimately familiar to Lurk, and he needed no reference to know what every weapon was and where it came from. Each level and layer was dedicated to different manufacturers, events, and raids, emanating from the center in striations of color. Every gun, big and small had a story.

Lurk sat down at his workbench with a sigh of relief to be off his talons.

"Come in, come closer, please don't be shy. Take a seat so everyone can see." The group all crowded in with Wrath and Ruin taking the place of highest prestige right beside him. There was enough room in the work area that the outer edges sat right beside the racks. Wrath, Ruin, and every Demi-Claw with them felt a strange sense of security in the hidden vault. There was a sanctity to the place.

To his end, Lurk felt more like an overly armed schoolteacher than he did a king or lord.

Was what he was doing even worthwhile? Did it mean anything?

As he looked to Wrath who was only just managing not to violently fidget in joy, over to Ruin who was definitely glowing brighter than normal, then out to all the eager Sharpshooters, he realized that it did not matter if he thought it was a waste of time because none of them did.

For their sake, for something he hoped they would remember fondly, he could do it.

"What defines a gunner?" To better illustrate his point, Lurk set Entropy across his knees.

"A weapon has no power without a wielder." Lurk patted his prized firearm before returning it to his inventory. "But a wielder must make due with any weapon."

From his coat, he produced a sizeable handgun with a long silencer that pulsed a deep blue and whose edges blurred in and out of focus. There were many oohhs and aahhs from the Demi-Claws as they admired the striking visuals of the gun.

"A gun that does more damage the less mana a target has. Pairs well with rounds that deplete mana on hit." Turning it over, he counted the marks of excellence from completing the Death of Magic raid.

Next he pulled out a long, spindly pistol that had thorns growing along the underside of its barrel.

"Something which shoots spikes that inflict [Life Drain]. Light. Dependable. Yet takes time to take effect." For a while, the lithe and vicious sidearm was his favorite back up weapon. One of those rare few that he thought would become useless over time, yet he kept going back to.

Then a massive, blocky rifle with no stock. It spurred a good deal of excited whispering among the group.

"A bolter. Ah, does this one take me back. Excellent against fleshy targets but terrible against armor without the right ammo." He couched the bolter against his armored chest plate. In a moment of self-awareness he realized he might have been dragging on a bit too long and glanced over only to see Wrath and Ruin wagging their tails with glee. The chosen Demi-Claws all gazed at him with reverent awe.

"Uh, anyway." Trying to suppress his nervous smile, Lurk lowered the bolter and placed it back on his workbench.

After hopefully illustrating his point a little better with some examples, Lurk launched into the speech he had been rehearsing in his head for the last several hours.

"What defines a gunner? A bullet can kill as well as any sword or axe. A beam can cut just as a blade can. Plasma can sear and so can magic. Gunners, warriors, and mages share many things. Mastery of several skills. Discipline. Dedication. Knowledge of timing and deceiving your opponent. Distance. Knowing your enemy's weaknesses and exploiting them. We pursue perfection in our craft."

He took a moment to wave his arms like a maestro about to conduct a performance. Magic in the room that once was only buttons and menus now seemed strange compared to Lurk simply extending his will and different firearms coming at his call. Different makes and models paraded by as he spoke.

"Ours is the language of weapons. We speak and understand this because it is a part of us. Because when the right individual finds the right weapon, they become one and they know that gun as well as they know themselves. However, good tools don't make up for a gap in skill. Only when the right weapon is in the hands of the right user... The right wielder. When the gun does not follow the line of the hand, but the eye. When the mind alone aims the body and gun. When the enemy is killed not by the weapon, but by the wielder. That, to me, is what defines a gunner."

What Lurk expected was an awkward silence and blank stares. Instead, nearly every Demi-Claw clamored for his attention, dozens of questions zipping by.

"What's that one with the fancy scope?"

"Would you teach us, High Lord?"

"Where did those come from?"

"Which was the first?"

"What do the crystals on that one do?"

"Which is the best?"

"Tell us the story of Entropy!" There was a rousing cheer at this request. Thankfully, Wrath got a handle on the excitable bunch.

"Shut it, scale brains! High Lord Lurk is taking time away from his duties to fill your ungrateful heads with wisdom. One at a time." Wrath crossed her arms over her chest. Lurk belted out a hearty laugh. After some apologetic contrition, a few Demi-Claws raised their hands. With a much more genuine grin pulling at his cheeks, Lurk pointed to one of them.

"Did you really make all of this, High Lord?"

"Made, found, bought, or won. And I never threw anything away."

Lurk pointed at another as his display of guns floated back to their racks.

"Which is your favorite?"

"Oh, I have a lot of favorites." Lurk swept his gaze from one end of the room to the others, lingering a bit on each Demi-Claw. "Picking just one? I couldn't do it. Each of them is special to me."

There was a tug on his coat and the Ancient Incarnate turned to see Ruin sheepishly raising her claw.

"Please, tell us about you, High Lord. Where did you start?"

Ruin's puppy dog look was too much to resist for Lurk to not affectionately tug on one of her horns. She definitely glowed a good deal brighter under the attention.

"That's an excellent question, Ruin. It may surprise a lot of you to find that I began as an archer."

There were feigned gasps all around, along with many wagging tails. Lurk summoned a modified carbine that he no longer had the job class to use properly, tracing the Aesir engraving in the stock. He had placed it there after taking part in the special launch event Siege of the Jotun. It was one of the very few cosmetics he had that Harmony did not.

"Hard to believe, I know, I know. But we all had to start somewhere. I still remember back when this repeater carbine was the pinnacle of my arsenal. Those days were hectic. Finding the meta."

"I know what that is! Meet Enemy, Try Annihilation." Ruin proudly proclaimed. Scaly heads bobbed in agreement.

"No, no, no, that's not it. It's Maim, Entrench, Torch, Abolish." Wrath corrected.

Lurk was too busy trying to keep a straight face and moved on. Once the floodgates were opened, he could not help himself.

"Crossbows saw me through some difficult fights, though I moved on from them rather quickly." He put away the carbine and summoned an elegant magelock rifle quite similar to the ones that Lapua used. Except this one did not fade after it was fired.

"The magelock. The very first gun ever introduced into YGGDRASIL. It was slow. Heavy. Inaccurate. And preposterously expensive for what it did. This is a first generation model. No magical assistance could be used in loading it. Every powder charge, bullet, wading, and firing crystal had to be replaced by hand. It wasn't until much later that it was replaced by the numbered Types. You're all familiar with those. After that, the magelock became a core utility of the Psionic Gunner class and a few others rather than an actual gun anyone could just pick up and use."

Much to the shock of the closest Demi-Claw, Lurk passed the magelock down to him. After getting over the initial amazement, the gun was then given to the next in line so everyone could more closely examine it.

"It's funny, because most historians put the Valkyrie's Downfall event as the beginning of firearms in YGGDRASIL. And while yes, it brought with it a few of the manufacturers and patterns we see today, the magelock is often overlooked because it was regarded as little more than a novelty. Even I was initially dismissive of it. Until I gave it a try."

A brief showcase of the blackpowder weapons went by.

"History is important. Knowing the when and why of things can be quite useful in guessing what's going to happen. History can teach valuable lessons in design. Some things might seem like a good idea, but actually trying to use it you realize that what seemed sound in design is actually terrible in practicality. I ran into many dead ends. Not everything I tried worked."

True to his word, Lurk pulled out a quad barreled magelock that was good for two volleys before it needed repair due to the penalty on durability each extra barrel added. It was also stupidly heavy. He put that one away quickly, still wondering what he had been thinking when making it.

"The important thing to keep in mind is aside from the very earliest firearms, most everything of practical use comes from the foundries. Between the magelock, Types, and foundries, each world produced its own unique flavor. I want all of you to make informed decisions on what guns you pick, so let's talk about those. We'll begin with the oldest of the bunch. Grisha." Lurk snagged a lever-action rifle, all white oak and etched brass.

"Grisha is the easiest to understand. Direct damage. Durable. But also slow. They hit hard, though offer next to nothing in rapidfire. While they can't do anything nearly as fancy as the others, don't underestimate that dependability."

After looking around for a moment, Lurk singled out a special Demi-Claw as he allowed the Grisha to float back to its rack.

"May I see yours, Rho?"

Honored at the recognition, Rho worked his way through the group and handed over his gun.

"Ah, thank you. Yes, the Baneslayers. I always liked how their silver and gold appearance never seemed gaudy. This one is a configured for rapid fire, but they're quite flexible. Baneslayers are low in damage, comparatively, but have pinpoint accuracy and don't have to worry about bullet drop or travel time. The beams are made of light after all. They also benefit from having innate elemental bonuses. Fire. Ice. Acid. Holy. Some can switch between different damage types while others are fixed."

Lurk gave the Baneslayer back with a nod. Next, he spun in his seat to face Ruin.

"Ruin, can I see yours for a moment?"

More than a little excited to have her High Lord talk about hers, Ruin eagerly held out her most prized possession. The gun was quite long, the accelerator coils alone being almost the length of Entropy. A highly sophisticated cluster of optics made the already devastating weapon into its own artillery platform, capable of hitting extremely distant targets with ease. Though he had never taken the gun out into the field personally, the prototype he had based it on proved devastating.

"Absolution Through Ordnance, an Imperitor. Feels like I made this only yesterday. Grisha have some of the most reliably hard hitting, but Imperitor has the highest potential single shot damage. These are the gauss rail weapons. So they use a physical projectile with a very high velocity. They can be cumbersome, and generally slow to reload or charge. Ruin has an Autoloader ring which allows her to use her Imperitor much more effectively. Unfortunately that ring is exceptionally rare and I was only able to get a few. So keep that in mind if you're looking at an Imperitor."

Lurk went to ask Wrath for Deusvore, only to find she already had it held out for him. It was a peculiar bit of nostalgia to hold the weapon again. Deusvore he had used himself for quite some time before passing it on to Wrath upon her creation.

"Apollyon. They share a lot in common with Baneslayer's accuracy and lighter, more compact frames. Unlike Baneslayers they use solid ammunition and rather than elemental damage, Apollyon focuses on status buildup and speed. Against single entities, even high resistance can be overcome by higher rates of fire. Poison, petrification, paralysis, and other P words I'm forgetting. They have the fastest target acquisition, but you also can't mount your own sights, so keep that in mind. Apollyon shotguns work exceptionally well too. And I highly recommend pairing any of the submachine guns with a ballistic shield because of the decreased weight."

The soon-to-be Commandos hung on their High Lord's every word. New worlds of armament were unfolding before their eyes. Some of them had already made up their minds on which foundry they wanted to explore, looking back at the neatly ordered guns in their brackets. Although Lurk was far from done, sliding out his reliable Dreadspear next.

"Funny enough, the Helheim weapons aren't Abyssal, they're the Carceri. When Tartarus opened as an area in Helheim, a portion of the elite guards carried Carceri them. Hence being gun and polearm put together. Five's riflespear and my Dreadspear are Carceri. The material came from the Midas' Rain, but the blueprint came from Tartarus and the private forges within it. Although versatile, they can be heavy and suffer in effective range. You're not going to be sniping with a Carceri. They're quite excellent for keep an opponent on the wrong foot."

"That just leaves Abyssal!"

"Right you are, Wrath."

Wrath leaned into her well earned horn tug.

"Abyssal weapons all share the unique trait of being inherently silent. You can put a silencer on a Grisha or use skills to suppress an Imperitor. Nothing is as quiet as an Abyssal. That's not all that makes them special. They're unique ammunition is not only silent, it's also highly reactive, making enemies temporarily weaker to follow up damage. Just be aware that these do drain your mana as you use them. So those of you who decide on an Abyssal, keep in mind that you need to be conditioning your mana just as much as your aim."

Despite knowing that Nox was busy elsewhere, Lurk almost expected him to reach out of the shadows and hold out Echo of Damnation.

"Don't forget, if there's a limitation that you find, there's almost certainly a modification to overcome it. And if there isn't, then I probably have the blueprints to fabricate whatever it is you may need. Reflex sights, scopes, grips, muzzle brakes, suppressors, magazines, adjustable stocks. Combi-weapons too. Who wants an underbarrel flamethrower? Shotgun attachment? Acid harpoon? Grappling hook? Gravity anchor? Though... Maybe we should keep it simple at first. That's probably a bit too much to start out with. Become familiar with your weapon in its stock form, then determine what will suit you the best."

There was excited chattering among the group as the newly formed squads discussed what they wanted individually as well as what would synergize among them. A mild chuckle escaped Lurk as the lessons left him much more at ease.

"Oh, and before I forget, I want everyone to pick a melee weapon as well. In my experience, it's always good to have a backup. Maybe you run out of ammo." This elicited chuckles from the group. "Maybe you don't have time to reload. It's faster to switch to a sidearm. Or something that doesn't need reloading."

A smaller, but no less colorful variety of melee weapons was arranged on the actual walls of Lurk's gun room.

"You have the ever-useful bayonet in knife, spike, and shortsword. And the less common variants. Pile bunkers. Ah does that bring me back. Learning Gunpowder Sage had many challenges and I got quite familiar with those." Lurk pointed to a pair of elaborate Ancient Incarnate sized gauntlets up on the wall. Long Saturnite spikes were housed in dark metal shrouds attached to the vambraces. Different powder charges could be loaded into open cylinders mounted onto the housing for various effects.

"I would argue that the next most valuable close range option would be the blast pike. Nothing quite like a shaped explosive charge on the end of a stick. Some can be used exactly as that, a pike. Others are shorter, meant to be thrown as javelins or for quick thrusts. A few are even usable as bayonets or knives. Stab those into an enemy, snap off the blade, and make sure to get clear." Lurk patted above one of the many pockets in his greatcoat. He never left The Citadel without a brace of explosive consumables of a wide variety.

"And a personal favorite of mine, a breaker rod. A breaker rod can't deal lethal damage. What it can do is either break or disable an opponent's weapon on contact." With a flourish, Lurk produced his personal one, a unique artifact class item from the Sunforge raid. One of the last Muspelheim raids to ever be released.

"What about that one, High Lord?" A Demi-Claw pointed to an item Lurk had not taken off the wall to showcase.

"Oh, the Rocket Hammer. No. No, that one was silly. It can work. Just... Take my word for it. It was just silly. Woodsolution's Rocket Bow worked much better."

Another Demi-Claw did raise their hand.

"High Lord, am I mistaken? You said that each world produced one, but only mentioned eight different kinds. Do some of them come from many?"

"Ah, an excellent observation. Grisha, Apollyon, Imperitor, Baneslayer, Carceri, Abyssal, the Types, the magelock, all of them with their own strengths and weaknesses. A balance of speed, accuracy, and power. Yes, yes, there was one world that had a foundry which produced the Nanite weapons. That foundry never went past a few prototypes. It was supposed to come from a world beneath another. But when the portal opened, there really wasn't anything there." Lurk was truthful as far as he thought the Demi-Claws would understand.

He did not feel the need to mention how the YGGDRASIL devs had promised a sprawling hardcore survival questline set in its own instance with procedural storytelling and uniquely generated enemy encounters that launched so broken the devs had to issue an apology. The Valkyrie world became only a novelty, its tiny playable area with nothing but a small slice of town standing as nothing more than a reminder of promises broken.

Magic that blurred into arcane tech rose from Lurk's palm. A helix of sparkling triangular fragments revolved. Valkyrie's Nanite Oath shimmered around his digit. One of the few surviving fragments from a part of YGGDRASIL that never came to pass. A simple pistol and rifle coalesced into being from the helix. Although beautiful works, spectacles of hex patterns and geometric lines that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, they were just for show. The magic system they were supposed to utilize was never implemented, neutering any power they might have had.

All that remained was the special [Nanite Shield] spell locked away in Lurk's ring. Rather than dwell on it any longer than necessary, he closed his fist and the guns evaporated.

"I think I've blathered on long enough. If I kept talking we'd be here until next winter. I want all of you to pick a gun and something for up close. You can't use it right now, I know. But I want everyone to have something to work towards. The sooner everyone gets their necessary classes, the sooner you can start practicing with your real guns."

Barely able to contain themselves, the Demi-Claws were still on their best behavior. The group dispersed into the racks, some climbing rolling ladders to reach higher levels. A few came to him with specific questions about certain guns that Lurk happily answered. His explanation on the different foundries greatly helped guide their choices. Lurk watched as Rho and a few others who were quicker in their picks already standing at the walls of knives and blast pikes.

Wrath and Ruin stayed at their creator's side, discussing squad composition. Relaxing back into his chair, Lurk found reassurance in resting his claws on each of their shoulders. Although not all of his anxiety left him, Lurk was a good deal more confident with the twins in reach.

They would be ready. And failing that, heavily armed against whatever the world was ready to throw at them.

***BSL***

"Chieftain! My Chieftain!" A Snow Orc runner, young and lean, burst into the shaman's tent. "It's the Gray Arrows they-they... They are no more. Only their mothers and children remain. The-The... Enemy they..." The runner had to gasp, doubling over with his hands on his knees.

Sajuuk the True, chieftain of the One-Eyed Stag tribe shot to his feet and rushed over to the panting youth.

"Catch your breath, young one. Your message is no good half spoken." He spoke with the strength of a glacier cracking mountains. Sajuuk had seen more than eighty winters, and bore his ritualistic scars on his bare chest with pride. His tusks were long and his body toughened by years of battle.

"Boy, was there fire?" The shaman's single good eye glared from beneath her stag-skull headdress.

"Yes, my shaman. The few Gray Arrow warriors who survived were all badly burned. One spoke of the sky raining fire and death before he slipped from the waking. Even... Even our Skylords were struck down by it."

Sajuuk and the shaman shared a look before both glanced down to the scorched scrying bowl which had gone up in flames when the shaman had tried to look into the future just a few minutes prior to the messenger's arrival.

"Our Skylords, blessed be their wings, have summoned all the chieftains to Dragonstar." The young Snow Orc finished. Sajuuk patted him on the shoulder and stepped out of the tent.

Outside, he took in the plateau of his home and the vast fields of Snowdrop that ringed them. Acres of the sacred bloom painted the landscape in crystalline blues. Enough of the narcotic flower to strangle every human who dared defy the will of the Skylords. The One-Eyed Stag was only one tribe of many. A call to summon every chieftain had not happened in Sajuuk's lifetime.

And as he contemplated the arduous journey to Dragonstar that lay ahead of him, he felt the darkening sky weigh heavy over his valley home.

***BSL***

Author's Notes:

Okay, so I did not expect this chapter to take as long as it did. This is another one of those that I've had planned since the conception of Black Sky Legion. I really hope it was worth the wait!

I kind of got stuck day after day after day then all of sudden bam! There it is.

As I said, I hope this chapter is everything that you were hoping for, gentle reader. Until next my voice whispers in your ear and mind the story of Black Sky Legion, be safe, and may your ammunition be plentiful!


	16. Matters Of Silk, Steel, And Bones

Black Sky Legion

Chapter Sixteen

Matters of Silk, Steel, and Bones

***BSL***

"Forgemother, you wanted so see me? Is it about the Frost Dragon bodies?" Lurk bent down to scratch under the chin of the Forgeling that pawed at his leg, helping to distract him from the events of the previous day. Up on her dais, the Forgemother returned the first floor sphere to its orbit behind her head, then nodded.

"No, High Lord, though we are progressing well on that front. Using Platinum Wyrm hide in concert with Frost Dragon scales is showing promising results in resisting their unusual magic. There is another matter... Something... Something you need to see." Though it was hard to determine the worry in her tone, the Forgemother was clearly hesitant.

Lurk's jaw tightened. When the Forgeling whined, he managed to fake a smile with most of his attention remaining on the Forgemother.

"What is it? Is everything okay?"

"Something that... Well, it is best you see for yourself, High Lord. This is from a [Survey Beacon] I placed on a plateau that Novus and I visited the other day." One of her claws manipulated several brass keys on the side of her metal platform, rotating crystal lenses to project a floating disc of blue light just above the floor. Represented in miniature was the rocky formation in question.

"I smelled a peculiar metal. Concentrated. This is what the Beacon revealed." At her word and a few more keystrokes, the image was cut open to present a cross-section of the mountain. Rendered in bright red contrasting the blue, was what appeared to be a warped, cone-shaped deposit of metal that the Beacon identified as a mixture of Fatemetal and Darksteel in text boxes for Lurk to read. Underneath the names, the listed measurements were staggering. Over three-hundred-thousand metric tons of pure Darksteel as well as an additional hundred-thousand tons of the much less dense Fatemetal. Not ore. Actual refined product.

The sheer quantity alone made Lurk's mouth water a little. How many more Darksteel fortresses could he make? They were not solid Darksteel of course, that would have been insane. Or using it to plate the walls being erected outside to protect The Citadel? Or the Fatemetal? It was a high-tier ore from Niflheim with a few unique and interesting properties. While he had never found himself needing much of it, the prospect of so much falling into his lap certainly got Lurk's mind churning with possibilities. Several Forgelings gathered at their creator's talons, talking excitedly about the find.

Of immediate concern was its potential origin.

"That's strange. This... Is this from YGGDRASIL? As far as we've found, metal from the old world doesn't occur naturally here."

"It's not just the composition, my Lord." With a twirl of her claws, the Forgemother stripped away the surrounding rock to show just the metal. Once visually exhumed, Lurk's eyes widened. Although not every minute detail was visible, the shape of a giant sculpture became clear. Almost three-hundred feet tall, it sat on a tiered base that accounted for much of the bulk. Lurk tapped his scaly chin, remembering the distinctive silhouette made by the cloak, pair of forward curving horns, and fists on a sword hilt, the blade point down between the figure's feet.

"That looks just like one of the statues from the central Niflheim city. An Ice Titan. How did it get there? But... Different. There's something about the head I can't place. I wonder if we have any records in Cognitio to confirm. I'll have to ask Silkeena. I know where we can start, at least." He mused aloud. Crouching down, Lurk rested his claw on the shoulder of a Forgeling. "Could you run over to the library and get the Art of the Nine Worlds, please? It should have some pictures of the central cities I think might help us."

Nodding emphatically, the Forgeling galloped off to enact the will of her creator.

The Forgemother returned a slice of the topography and continued.

"It is without a doubt not a natural formation. Based on erosion, it seems as though the statue replaced the top of the mountain and then due to its weight, sank into the softer soil until it hit rock sturdy enough to hold it. I would say it fell from the sky, but something that large would have left a crater difficult to miss."

"Why do some things appear as if placed, and others drop from the sky? We're still waiting on Mags to give us more information on these Meteor Fields that Lapua and Ten Gauge have reported on, but this is just further confirmation that we're not the first things from YGGDRASIL to appear. No matter where it came from, this is an opportunity we can't pass up. That's... A lot of premium material." Running his tongue over his teeth, Lurk swallowed back a pang of pure draconic greed.

"I took the liberty of securing the area with a Sensor Network and Type Fifty Sentinels. Type Twenty-Five Sentinels are in reserve in case of trouble. Your foresight has gifted me with every tool I could ask for, High Lord." She gave a languidly contented wave of her tail, placing several blue crosshairs above the statue. Sentinels were automated sentry guns that the Forgemother could deploy at will. The only drawback being travel time depending on how far away the targeted place was.

Naturally, this was only the first step. The Forgemother altered her display to show only the mountain top. Flat areas were carved clean, platforms, walls, and defensive towers springing into life around the highlighted dig zone.

"With your permission, this will serve a dual purpose while we exhume the metal by being a waystation between The Citadel and our operations in Orza. In light of recent events, I have approved Ten Gauge's request for construction of a Hydra flak tower over the Orza watch keep his squad is based in. A vast improvement over their current housing. In addition, the Flayers in Orza have finished processing the remaining valuable components off the slain Platinum Wyrms and is awaiting Wyvern recovery teams. The mountain is a good distance between us and Orza that it should do nicely as a midpoint to transport material back and forth."

Even though the battle in the mountains was still fresh on his mind, the Forgemother's diligence did a great deal towards putting him at ease. Being able to rely on the guardians of The Citadel took a great deal of weight off his shoulders. Ruling Black Sky Legion, commanding its troops, managing its resources had grown considerably more difficult. Yet Lurk's resolve to do it well had only strengthened, while his guardians rose to the challenge.

"This looks excellent. We are going to be need forward operating bases like this. Not to mention what a find! You've done wonderfully, Forgemother. Thank you." Lurk let out a breath so heavy he felt all the lighter for it.

"I did not wish to begin operations until I had conferred with you, High Lord. I am so glad you are pleased." Although she could not exactly blush, the Relic Iron between her horns roiled a bit faster as her inner fire flared a bit brighter. Despite all the power the Godmaker possessed, she was still a creature of emotion, craving love and adoration.

"I appreciate that. We've never had to move that much tonnage before. There's no way to get the whole thing back here in one go, is there?" Immersing himself in a problem, a puzzle, was another welcome respite.

"It will be slow going. Even with a mobile blast furnace on site, getting the mass melted down is going to be labor intensive."

Humming to himself, Lurk considered the physical limitations imposed on them. If the world had still been a game, then such a wealth would have been easy to gather. That did not mean he had to accept such limitations.

"Why don't we cut it into pieces rather than trying to smelt it at the mountain? I'm sure you could make quick work of it here in the forge without needing to turn it into ingots first. We already use Greater Wyverns with [Lightweight Cargo]. Buff them with [Titan Strength] potions, and have them lift the pieces with chains enchanted with [Burden of Atlas]."

"Carry pieces back to The Citadel? That would certainly expedite things. We have talon sheaths that confer strength bonuses as well. What could we use to turn the statue into pieces small enough? From the shipbreaker yards of the Molten Shore! Of course! Line Cutters, Plasma Torches, and Gravity Claws. It is just solid metal, so the Forgelings do not have to be careful or delicate." Her tail waved excitedly as she produced blueprints for the items in question. Immediately the Forgelings joined in, discussing the make and use of such powerful instruments their High Lord provided.

"Exactly right." Edges of his mouth curling upward, Lurk was glad that his passions had found their way into the keepers of The Citadel's forge. The Forgemother reminded him of just how many schematics, blueprints, and plethora of other plans he, Harmony, and Woodsolution had collected. Sometimes it was purely for that little check mark in a menu saying that they had gathered every possible thing in a given area or for various factions throughout the nine worlds. That freedom of choice and wealth of opportunity had been YGGDRASIL's strength.

From airships to skimmers to pirate vessels, walking castles, flying castles, and more, YGGDRASIL's systems worked because players tended to fill in the gap with intrinsic motivations. They took the tools provided and made their own fun. The sandbox, with all the molds for sandcastles waiting to be discovered.

Recognizing the bittersweet ache in the base of his horns, Lurk understood how much he missed shipbreaking within YGGDRASIL. Taking a large vehicle and artfully reducing it to neatly organized stacks of components had a cathartic quality to it not unlike the satisfaction of completing a puzzle. Bad things tended to happen when a Line Cutter beam went through fuel lines. Lurk only had to learn that lesson once. Hacking apart large metal boats meant to traverse lava seas was soothing in its intricacy. In a genius move, the devs used broken skimmers from the brawling mode in combination with the pre-designed hulls to give a greater sense of variety.

When he had been trying to quit smoking the first time, he had used the game within a game as a coping mechanism. Small craving? Pull apart a small boat. Need to zen after a supremely difficult day of work? Purchase salvage rights on a dreadnought and be lost for hours in deconstructing the volatile systems woven throughout. Racing and brawling were his end goal in shipbreaking for parts, though the greater stakes precluded relaxation.

While Lurk was reminiscing and the Forgemother excited at the prospect of industrial-grade toys, the Forgeling sent out returned with the book in her mouth. So careful and controlled, that even held in teeth of surgical sharpness the covor bore not a scratch. Once Lurk took it, the Forgeling was free to speak.

"Apologies, High Lord, it took me a moment to interrupt miss Silkeena and Lord Nox from their wrestling match. Miss Silkeena said she shall find every reference Cognitio has available post haste." Sitting back on her haunches, the Forgeling lifted her chin, hoping for her Lord's approval.

"Thank you, sweetie." Lurk affirmed with an affectionate head pat. Just like her larger counterpart, the Forgeling preened as Lurk flipped open the heavy art compendium. After consulting the table of contents, he moved to the chapter dedicated to Niflheim. In one of the actual screenshots of the city, an Ice Titan statue was clearly visible. Only this one had a Fenrir sized wolf standing at its side and different horns, more closely resembling its actual in-game counterpart. He turned a few more pages and came to the concept section. There among a few other designs was an exact match to what was buried in the mountain. According to the artists notes, their errant hunk of metal was a design that had almost made the cut.

Lurk was unsure what to make of such information. At least he did confirm its likeness to something from YGGDRASIL. Why the unfinished version and not the real thing? How did the timeline work for it to have been there long enough to sink as far as it had?

He really needed a cigarette.

The Forgemother put away the many schematics she had open, remembering herself and adopting a more somber tone.

"I may have gotten a bit carried away. There is something else. Something... A bit more troubling, my Lord. It's below the statue. Though the [Survey Beacon] does not quite have the resolution necessary to accurately display it."

Closing the book, Lurk watched as the Forgemother lifted the projection so high he saw the edges of its depth from below. There seemed to be a mass beneath the statue of... Static?

"What is that?" Lurk's brow furrowed so hard his scales nearly wrinkled.

"It would be most expedient and accurate to convey through a mental connection, High Lord. If... that would not be too bothersome." The Forgemother moved over slightly on her dais to make room.

"Of course." Pulling on Mask of the Psion, Lurk hopped up into the space offered. Up close, the heat she radiated was a strange comfort. Maybe it he was just glad to be away from the cold north. So near, he had to crane his neck back to look at her.

"Can you show me?"

The Forgemother nodded. Claws that were as long as he was tall curled protectively around him. The Ancient Incarnate turned to face the projection and placed his claw on the Forgemother's own.

He was unprepared for the rush of connecting to his Imperitor Titanica. Touching her mind was akin to dipping his feet into a small solar system. Through her, Lurk was connected to The Citadel in a way he would have never thought possible. Each floor was its own tiny world, strung together orbiting the fiery heart. Little lights representing all the lives adorned the layers as stardust. Crystal drops on a starry blanket. Moving and glinting. Flitting to and fro in a symphony of fireflies. Brighter stars in the constellation were the floor guardians, with the brightest being himself as Harmony was away in Kadusia.

Everything had a color, taste, smell, even texture.

There was the spiced gun oil of Alpha and Omega. Racking bolts. Humming [Implosion] mines. The bunkers themselves were hard knots of reinforced concrete that were bumpy to the touch, so encrusted with firepower they felt more like a hull covered in barnacles.

Clattering shields from the Eternal War contrasted the smooth grass and fluttering banners. Harmony's practice range added a distinctly singed portion to the floor.

Of Skitharix and his domain, was color with no pigment, echoes without sound, and an indescribable taste somewhere between old tea leaves and well cared for leather. The Flesh Keeper's home, the Church of Knives, seemed to move, even to the Forgemother. Not out of maliciousness or ill-will, it just forgot where it was sometimes.

Below the fourth floor was the slippery wetness of the Mystic's Reef. Currents moved through the underground bubble of water. Waves from the smaller creatures, and the larger displacement of the Leviathan. Caring for the living artistry of the reef was a pleasure for the Forgemother. Its luminous colors contrasted the dark waters.

Oddly, it was the ash plains of the sixth floor which had the most pleasing texture. Ash so fine there was no grit, and Darksteel, polished smooth and cool to the touch just beneath. There was a bitter almond aroma rising from the flowers growing in the dust of devastation. Pleasantly alluring in concert with the deadly ripples of the [Radiant] obelisks they grew around. Darksteel fortresses formed a network of symmetrical blades. A pattern of razor edges that resembled a flower just as the petals blooming in the ash.

Although the seventh was really nothing more than an arena, gravity pushing at the floating island of stone from all sides lent a certain weightiness. A shell of void around a nucleus of light with a dash of slow burning coals underneath.

Wingbeats from the eighth. A bubbling river of lava and brooding Wyverns tending to nests. Rough hewn stone retained its natural shape. The Citadel's legacy as a Burn Dungeon lived on in The Scar and Effluvial Tide. For that reason, an almost vintage feel permeated the largest section of The Citadel. Lurk smiled as he noted that the Forgemother kept track of wherever Novus slept and adjusted the ambient temperature to make sure he was comfortable.

Most intricate in its complexities was the final floor. From the throne, map room, Cognitio, Arboretum, forge, treasury, firing range, and all the other components wove together in web of interconnected parts. Much of the functions were automated by magic, yet it still fell on the Forgemother to regulate everything. Avatar of Metal made a forge a part of her own body. Humming in the back of her mind were calculations of weight, output, as well as temperature of each furnace and the liquid metal churning through her pipes. Nova Crystal control rods danced a ballet to the orchestra of hammers and anvils.

All that at the speed of thought. Lurk knew it was only the overview. A surface glance only. While it would have been easy to lose himself in that widened perception, he still had work to do. Beneath the wonder he felt on his own, he sensed the Forgemother's concern.

_Sorry, please proceed._

Through the Forgemother's more precise perceptions of the data given by the [Survey Beacon] Lurk was able to see what lay below the Niflheim statue on the edges of the data projection. It was finer than what the probe was really meant to render. On the broader scope, especially beneath the comically large statue, there seemed to be odd grains of sand. Narrowing down and down, further and further, the Forgemother brought Lurk along with her sight.

Bones. The static, grains of sand, filling a wide area under the statue, were incalculable numbers of bones.

He understood then why the Forgemother had recommended showing him through a psionic link. Through her, Lurk could appreciate the quantity. As she manipulated the image and once again stripped away the earth, the scope of the deposit became clearer. Even so, the [Survey Beacon] only went so into the mountain.

_It's a mass grave... Almost as if the whole mountain was full of bones. How..._

_I do not know, High Lord Lurk. The top layer has been crushed somewhat by the statue, so it goes to reason that the bones are older. Making them at least several hundred years old. Though there might be evidence of more recent additions. Hard to tell with the Fatemetal interfering with the [Survey Probe]._

_If it's all from the old world then we'll need to take care of it as soon as possible. What's going to be the best way to get rid of all that? Hm... Better question, is there anything we can do with them?_

_I am glad you asked, High Lord. Refinement will depend on their composition. We will not know for certain until the statue is out of the way, though I have several ideas. I scrounged up some old alchemical formula for promising transmutations. Once samples are available, I shall draft a proper report._

_Do you think we'd make anyone angry by digging them up?_

_I doubt it, High Lord. Oxelan and Orza are primarily human. These skeletons are from a wide variety of species and in a place none of their cultures hold any special regard for. Many are Frost Giant. The rest are hard to discern, though my hypothesis would be that they can be traced to Niflheim as well. When we get to that stage of the dig, hopefully answers will be forthcoming._

Pulling off Mask of the Psion, Lurk broke the mental connection.

"Meteor fields. Statues. Bones on top of bones underneath relics. How has this whole continent not been completely overrun by the undead with all this? What is going on? Every time we find something new in this world, I have more questions than answers. Whatever the case, this poses a serious problem." Folding his arms over his chest, Lurk's tail lashed back and forth in agitation.

"What are a few undead to the might of Black Sky Legion?"

"Even if we can, what about Oxelan, Orza, and Kadusia?" Frowning, Lurk began pacing rapidly along the lip of the dais.

"A fair point, High Lord." The Forgemother rumbled, following his movements as he took only a few steps before turning sharply, repeating the motion. Down below, several Forgelings watched him, their heads waving to and fro.

"Other than dig up every mountain, what can we do to prepare for this? We need to check around the cities. Information is vital. Training Sharpshooters into Commandos is going to take time. I need to make more Painlords..."

"My Lord, what about the Sunhammer?"

The Forgemother's suggestion caused Lurk to pause. After only a moment he gave a dismissive wave of his claw.

"The Sunhammer? No, no, that was just a theory build. An experiment to see how big of an artillery piece I could design. The Type One super-heavy would've been only for show. Able to reach anywhere on Muspelheim, drawing power from the forge with the control rods disengaged. Really what good is a giant fire gun when almost everything on Muspelheim is immune to fire?" Remembering back, he had been so excited to get the blueprint, only to be greatly disappointed.

It was a tool to allow the Forgemother's power to reach outside of The Citadel. Or would have been, in a game sense. As an excitable gun nut, after having put so much time into getting the pinnacle Type One, Lurk had been expecting a firearm he could take with him. That did not stop him from designing a weapon of ludicrous size using the template, though it did dissuade him from actually building it.

"High Lord, we are not on Muspelheim anymore. Would it not serve us better here?" She lifted a claw for her Lord to lean his worries on.

"Hm, its biggest drawback was not being able to shoot into the other worlds. But we don't have to worry about that. There's only this one. I mean, I've always wanted an excuse to build it."

"An excuse? There is no need for such a thing from the High Lord of The Citadel. If its construction would serve you and the Legion, then that is all the reason the forge needs." Her chest puffed out at the declaration, a flare of inner light accompanying it. Seeing the Forgemother excited reassured Lurk a good deal, stroking the smooth metal of her claw.

"This world isn't like Muspelheim, Forgemother. It's fragile. If we start punching craters into it..." Lurk trailed off, thinking of rivers and lakes so polluted by chemicals they regularly caught fire. Of a world stripped of green save for in glass bottles.

"I understand your concern, High Lord. However, would not the alternative be worse? If there are more such graves, then a halfway competent necromancer could have an army in short order. Fighting back such a tide would be easy for The Citadel. Though it could take time that the mortal kingdoms may suffer for. The Sunhammer could be a direct answer to such a threat."

Though torn, Lurk was still fresh from the battle against the Frost Dragons. The ice of their magic was hard to dispel. Even more chilling was the idea of waking up tomorrow to a desolate earth overrun with undead.

"Well, if you fight fair, you're doing it wrong. Alright, Forgemother, build the Sunhammer. And pray we never need to use it."

***BSL***

More battles needed to be fought and won that day. Fortunately for Lurk's sanity, they had exceptionally lower stakes.

A Corsair squad moved carefully through hostile territory. While the main force engaged the enemy they were tasked with sneaking around and capturing the objective. Six of them had managed to get into the courtyard of the opposing Darksteel fortress. Standing proudly in the middle was their prize, the red flag.

From behind, a rain of bolts caught them unaware and they vanished in puffs of green smoke, banishing them back to the designated home base to lick their wounded pride and await their penalty timers before returning to the field.

"Yeah, suck it blues!" Taunted the Corsairs on the walls.

Each team had brightly colored red or blue armbands. Their rivalry as old as competitive gaming. Blunt training bolts flitted across the designated training zone. Squads of Corsairs from both teams fought over slabs of Darksteel clustered together and small towers which had been erected between the two forts chosen for the exercise.

From their perch on the balcony of the central fortress, Lurk and Phage had an excellent view of the mock conflict.

"It seems you've fallen right into my trap, Phage." Lurk pointed out.

"A cunning move, High Lord. Though perhaps your trap shall end up serving me quite well." She countered, hiding her expression behind an ornate Darksteel fan as well as her mask. The many eyes etched into it made clear who had made the fan for her.

Even after the failed capture attempt the blue team kept up the pressure, sweeping around both sides of the fortress walls and reducing its defenders to puffs of smoke. So occupied with repelling the smaller attack, the reds were put on the back foot by the sudden aggression. Soon most of the red team sat in the penalty room, helpless to prevent a triumphant blue from making off with their flag to score.

After watching Phage encourage battle between the two teams, Lurk began offering his own pointers. Before long, each of them had picked a side. There was no commander role in this version of YGGDRASIL capture the flag, yet that did not stop them. They organized squads and appointed group leaders to coordinate. Other than that, they mostly let the game play out as normal. Without menus, Lurk could not even hazard to guess what kind of experience the Corsairs might gain. Trial and error would hopefully light the way.

While fresh reinforcements from the reds pushed the blues out of their base, Lurk's attention wandered a bit to the floor at large.

Wearing Mask of the Keeper brought sharp contrast to the environmental threats, pointed red symbols depicting the nature of the hazards appearing in the corner of his sight wherever he looked. Dotted around the grey plains, [Radiant] obelisks limned in the telltale emerald flame of the Plague Elves, surrounded by fields of the ash blooms. Their petals danced in the green light of desolation.

Although a muted gloom provided ample light to see, if the sixth floor was breached then all visibility would cut. That alone was not much of a defense. Some form of night vision was part of every player's standard kit. That's where the Baleful Lanterns came in. Trophies from Harmony's Gravedigger escapades in Helheim that were mounted on the walls of the Darksteel forts. They could be aimed like spotlights, blinding rays of darkness specifically able to cleanse any sight buff that was not racial.

In addition to massed carbine fire and Phage herself, the floor's very structure was an active participant in its defense. Taking the lessons in constructing the fourth floor, Lurk had programmed slabs of Darksteel as well as other obstacles to emerge so as to herd foes into fields laced with razorwire bombs and the like. In the center were the forts themselves, Darksteel curtain walls overlooking ditches filled with nests of spikes. From the central fort, festooned with sharp crenelations atop even sharper ramparts, eight smaller forts pierced the ash like points on a compass rose. Far enough apart to make the spaces between a deathly maze while close enough to be in range of heavy Thresher support from the many ravelins jutting out of the main battlements.

In an especially devious twist, Lurk had designed the physical entrance down to the next floor to move away from the enemy. Most players would think to attack the central keep when in fact each outer fort had a path down, yet only one would be open at a time. Only once every Corsair in every fort was dead would the path stop changing. Easier said than done as the Plague Elves were the chosen racial inhabitant not only for their immunity to the radiation, but also for their movement. If pressed, the Corsairs would slip through emerald fire to another fort. Eventually the force would snowball and the enemy would have to overcome a concentrated garrison. Just because the architectural coding of YGGDRASIL required there to be an exit did not mean it had to be simple.

After a detailed account of a highly public guild raid was released, a preferred tactic of assault became teams brute forcing their way through obstacles with terrain destruction magic. Darksteel was prized for its property of being almost magically inert. While not the most durable compared to other metals, any spell did only the barest fraction of its damage.

Looking out on his work, Lurk wondered if it would be enough. Though Phage herself had proven to be a player killer of the highest order, her actual home had never been truly tested. It did not matter how good he was. No matter the dedication or planning, all it took was one enemy being better.

As his stomach sank low, he looked to Phage. His Pale Rider was brightly attentive, ornate fan folded in her lap. Above the curving fangs of her mask, her eyes glinted in excitement, flicking between different positions, no doubt calculating where to make her next move. Before, Phage only had a rudimentary set of behavior parameters to follow. Attack. Defend. Retreat. Aggressive stance. Passive stance. Skill usage frequency. Now she could live up to the wicked cunning of Dreadsoul and Despoiler combined with Pale Rider.

If some of Lurk's worst case scenarios came about... Maybe he did not need to worry quite so much.

Regardless, it was relaxing to just spend time with Phage, sipping Chryssilum tea and watching the age old battle between reds and blues. It also helped having a small creature in his lap. Soot purred like a pudgy draconic cat as Lurk stroked his back. Spilled loosely across Lurk's thighs, Soot resembled more of a melted puddle as Lurk rubbed right between his little wings.

"I must say, High Lord, I believe it's masterfully clever of you to turn my training into a game that can strengthen its participants." Phage leaned back in her seat with a jingle of brass. Only a few materials were resistant enough to withstand Phage's aspect without crumbling. In the comfort of the home designed for her, she could be more at ease.

"Thank you for inviting me, Phage. You're quite good at this."

"I learned from the best. Those scaly mongrels in the north stood no chance before a real dragon, High Lord. I hope you allow me the honor of their annihilation." In a strapless dress and without her gloves, a distortion visibly rippled the air from her shoulder down her arm. The flex of power slipped between her fingers before she crushed it in her palm. Ever one of etiquette, she snapped open her handheld fan as bird of prey would ruffle its plumage to hide demurely behind it.

"Now that is something I would pay to watch." Chuckling, Lurk took another sip of tea before settling back with a sigh. "All of this is a bit of a shot in the dark. We don't know if capture the flag or paintball is going to be worth our time." He grumbled at the uncertainty.

"Paintball, High Lord?" Cocking her head slightly, Phage looked far too cute.

"Yes, rather than bullets, the guns are loaded with little balls of paint that burst on impact. It's one huge colorful mess. Wrath and Ruin should be setting up a simple course on the surface for the Demi-Claws to train as we speak."

"I hope I can be there when Wrath and Ruin play. They are going to be quite the sight!" Phage tittered. "I never knew there were so many wonderful games. I should have asked about them ages ago."

Lurk could not have faked a smile if he had been trying.

"Funny you should mention games. The Forgemother found what seems to be a statue from Niflheim in a mountain she and Novus visited. We discussed using shipbreaking tools to take the statue apart. Shipbreaking was quite the fun game back then." As he spoke, the Ancient Incarnate stared off at nothing, his train of thought set adrift. "I just... Think it's strange. There are also bones underneath. So many. Peculiar. In the old world, once a monster was defeated, the body would usually just disappear."

"Well, it has to go somewhere, doesn't it?" Although ridiculous, Phage's answer was delivered with absolute seriousness. The frightfully accurate observation brought Lurk back to reality. He put a pin in the idea and saved it for later.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud. Anyway, I like to think I was a fairly competent rider back in my prime. Racing those things across the water at speed required a certain finesse. Skimmer brawling was my best field. Probably because I could blow up the other people. Or the multi-leg endurance race across the nine worlds. Lava sea. Cloud ocean. Ice sheets. Each one needed special modules or enchanted components. My old boats might still be in the treasury somewhere. I can't remember if I put them in the Hall of Memories or not. It's been too long since I took my favorite sail-skimmer for a casual ride." Stumbling headfirst into the pit of nostalgia made Lurk's horns ache.

Perhaps he might just do that. There was an ocean less than a day's flight away. Maybe take Harmony out on that luxury cutter he had loaded with cosmetic winnings from his races, pack a nice lunch, and make a day out of it. The weather was turning towards chill. How far south would he need to go to find a sandy tropical beach?

The reds and blues kept clashing with our without oversight, so Phage perked up at the chance to learn more about her Lord.

"Skimmers are special craft that ride just above the surface, aren't they? You built them too, Lord Lurk? I have never considered such a thing. Though nothing is beyond your abilities, High Lord. How do you make them, and what do they look like? No doubt yours are the best."

"I wouldn't say the best. Few other people ever had the patience to build everything from scratch, or just copied others. I was certainly proud of a few of my designs." Continuing to rub Soot's back, Lurk spoke at length about what used to be a passion of his.

Naturally he began with the weapons. His memory was a bit patchy, though he did remember all kinds of useless specifics about the ones he used the most. Once he was able to make explosive ordnance that he could manipulate with Gunpowder Sage he found himself catapulted into the highest leagues of play where competition truly became fierce. Skimmers loaded up with cannons, and magic missiles were only one aspect. Racing, whether it pushed the limits of speed, endurance, or both, presented different challenges to be overcome by hull design, armor plating, or enchanted shielding.

The longer Lurk talked, the more enthusiastic he became, adding personal anecdotes along the way. By the end of it, Phage's elbows were up on the table between them as she leaned forward, eating up every word. She encouraged him, expressing great interest in every facet.

"Belial's Bounty was insane and unfair. The bounty pacing terrible. It only lasted two weeks and because of that only very few got the final reward. The flaming guitar was the most difficult to get, but worth all the blood, sweat, and tears." Smirking as he recalled the triumphant battle which had seen him gain the trophy, Lurk's claw flexed closed around a control stick for a battle barge that was no longer there.

"A guitar is a musical instrument, isn't it? Does it cast fire spells?"

"No, but I'm sure any song would be quite... Hot." Lurk's digits danced down invisible strings as he snickered quietly, even adding a bit of flame to his palm for effect. After a moment, Phage got the joke, half groaning, half laughing.

"I'm sorry, Phage. Get me talking about these sorts of things and I'll just ramble on." Petting Soot's back in long strokes, Lurk apologized for both the pun and his meandering. The Gunpowder Dragon cracked an eye open at the shift in attention. Lurk waggled a claw in front of his snout and Soot grabbed a digit carefully in his teeth before settling.

"High Lord Lurk, I have never heard you 'ramble on' about anything. Your knowledge is enviable and any opportunity to learn from you is a blessing. Besides, I enjoy listening to you talk." She declared without a speck of irony. Phage meant every word, and would defend such sentiment to the death. Although he found it sweet, Lurk believed she was just being polite for his sake.

As he was about to answer, Lurk turned his head as if listening to someone whispering in his ear.

"Sorry, Phage. Harmony needs help with something real quick. Probably a signature on a trade agreement with Kadusia. I'll be right back." As Lurk stood, Soot grunted indignantly at being so disturbed, grumbling even more when held out across the table.

"At your leisure, Lord Lurk." Phage eagerly took Soot, laying him on his back to rub his belly. While the Gunpowder Dragon was most fond of Lurk, he was beginning to tolerate Phage. Especially when she started feeding him bits of charcoal.

Lurk pulled on Mask of the Unbound and stepped away...

...Right into a tightly cramped changing room, wood panels all around.

"What the- oh, hi." Lifting the front of his magical mask to make sure he was not seeing things, Lurk looked his wife up and down.

Harmony stood in a bra, loads of jewelry, and nothing else. Stormgold bracers, armlets, and a wide set of necklaces covered more than cloth did. The scent of feminine sex was thick in the confined space and Lurk took a deep breath of his wife's pheromones, licking his teeth as he spotted the trails of gold running down her legs. From his angle, Lurk could only see the top of her puffy mound and the scales that concentrated at the V of her thighs. He was quite interested in the liquid gold pooling there. With his nose being a great deal more sensitive than it used to be, he noted the sharper musk as well as the brighter sheen to the juices of his sexy dragoness.

"Mm, there's my big strong dragon." She purred, cuddling right up to him. A moment later she welded her lips to his. Their tongues wound around each other as Harmony's infectious passion ignited Lurk's even as her physical warmth got him to slide off his coat. Her palms roved over his tank top down to the groin of his pants which quickly tented. Quickly freed, Lurk's claws coaxed her toned thighs to part. Using the pads of his digits, he better appreciated how swollen and slick her scale-speckled peach was.

Breaking the kiss first, Harmony rested her chin on his shoulder. "Hey, _darling_, I think I'm in heat. It's like a waterfall down there." Gyrating her hips, her coo set his heart racing. "I also put a [Silence] enchantment down so we can be as loud as we want."

"Mm, you think of everything. Good thing being different species means we don't have to worry about birth control. I bet we could figure out [Create: Dragon Condom]. So you're not cramping, just super horny?" With her juicy mound cupped in his palm, he circled the teardrop entrance with the pad of one claw.

"Hell no I haven't had any cramps, thank goodness. I always imagined going into heat would have cramps too, but all I have to deal with is mother nature turning on the faucet every time I think of you." Harmony groaned as she leaked freely. Usually she was only this much of a mess after she had worked herself up enough to gush.

"That's awesome." Despite wanting to plunge right in, Lurk delighted in playing with his messy girl. Slipping up and through her slit, tugging at her plump labia, and feeling her shudder whenever he dipped inside or grazed her clit.

"Maybe for you. You haven't had to change your underwear three times today." Harmony complained even though her gold-flecked eyes danced with mischief. Turning her butt towards him, she spread her legs wide enough for her heels to touch both sides of the little space, bending forward to give Lurk easy access.

"Why wear underwear at all? Why don't you just wear a skirt for me and just lift it up whenever you need... Help?" Rubbing her haunches with one claw, Lurk massaged the base of her tail with his other, leaving claw prints in her own golden juices. Harmony's extra appendage twitched as her lover draped it over his shoulder. In the enclosed space she had her wings retracted and Lurk took great satisfaction in the way she shivered as he traced the marks where they would emerge.

"You're just a pervert who likes me in skirts." She shot back.

"And? Going into heat is your fetish. Though I can definitely see the appeal." Transfixed by her wanton pose, Lurk unbuckled his pants and hissed in relief as his stifled length sprung free. In the confines of the dressing room, he had to crouch down a bit to get the right angle. Using a claw to guide himself, Lurk dragged the tip of his cock through the channel of Harmony's sex. "Heh, remember when we did it in the Sasha's Secret dressing room?"

"Sh-shut up, don't tease." She whined. In truth of course she loved every second of it. Each time his head pushed against her clit, Harmony moaned and wiggled her rump.

"Besides, it makes a lot more sense biologically for mammals to just have a small heat, rather than the uterine gymnastics humans go through because of weird reproductive evolution. It lines up much better with the background lore of your race too." Absently rattling off, Lurk reveled in watching the aureate juices of her natural flow collect along the ridges on the top of his cock.

"You can tell me all about it later. Cock now, please." Harmony squirmed in impatience as she only caught about every other word from her husband. As soon as she caught his tip in her entrance, she pushed back to impale herself. She gyrated her hips and moaned openly as her walls refused to open quickly. Puffy lips slowed progress as her estrus-afflicted insides were tight beyond reason, and somehow more welcoming too. Gradually her petals engulfed the fat dragon cock all the way to the root. Lurk nearly went cross-eyed as Harmony stubbornly forced her sex to take all that he had to give.

Usually, Lurk bottomed out inside her with still a few inches left outside. He had to stretch out the end of her tunnel to bury himself to the root. Especially whenever Harmony had her hips tilted just right that he rubbed the entrance to her womb. Yet her season had left the smooth muscle of her cervix much softer than normal. All the better to nestle up against.

That was all the persuasion he needed to take over. Once enough girly juices were spread along Lurk's length, he was able to properly thrust in and out despite her tightness. She met his motion, slapping her luscious backside against his crotch. Strings of sticky gold connected the two of them. As his pace quickened, his grip on Harmony's waist tightened while he grabbed one of her horns to keep the eager female in check, weaving his digits through the jeweled chains strung along them. He did not want to accidentally pull back too far and slip out.

For a while, Harmony was more than happy to just enjoy the steady pounding. Pressure gradually built up inside her. There was a particular spot in her swollen delicates that ached for relief. Rolling her hips up and down, side to side, trying to get the head of the girthy tool perfectly lined up. Lurk tugging on her horns got her to arch her back just right. She gasped as the handsome dragon slapping his hips against hers found the mark. Harmony's eyes watered from the jolt that ran from deep in her belly to the tip of her tail.

As Lurk ravaged her with short, powerful strokes, he rammed full force into that secret place again and again. He could tell it was a good angle by the sharp rise in the pitch of her moans. Harmony expected to explode in orgasm. Instead, her core melted. Rather than a crushing release, the pleasure just built and built until her whole body was singing and her velvet walls rippled around her mate. Her ecstasy plateaued rather than peaked. And it took a whole lot longer to come down. While not exactly an orgasm, she was not about to complain.

Even though he did not experience it the way she did, Harmony's heat still had quite the effect on Lurk. More than just the physical sensation of having sex, the scent of her musky season was intoxicating. It triggered the animalistic part of his brain and guided him as surely as the first time he opened his wings that this female needed to be ploughed and sown like a loamy field.

So he did as any man worth his guns and gold would, digging in his talons for leverage as he pumped his wife full of seed. Even though he was hilted within her, Lurk still tried to press in even inches he did not have, feeling the end of her tunnel barely able to cope with his endowment. With Harmony's insides so hot, Lurk's cum actually cooled the raging estrus in her belly. Each flex of his length was another load to swell her insides. Her walls dragged on his ridges as he straightened his posture to relieve the burn in his thighs from the workout. When he pulled out, her lower lips remained slightly parted from the brief but intense pounding. Male seed mixed with her golden juices in equal measure as her chalice overflowed with milk and honey.

Sliding down the wall as Lurk released her horn she could not even be bothered to lower her tail. Harmony giggled, being more than a little cum drunk. As she turned to face him, she came eye level with his member and her estrus flared back to life at the magnificent sight.

"Can you get hard again? Please?" She begged, tenderly wrapping her fingers around his manhood.

"Hmm, I can try. You want it bad, don't you my sweet thing?" Petting Harmony's hair, Lurk gazed down into those beautiful red and gold eyes of hers. Rather than answer, Harmony leaned forward and took Lurk's partly flaccid length into her mouth. The scent and taste of them mixed together sent shivers from her chest to the tip of her tail. It did not take much to get her draconic mate back to full mast. In moments her jaw ached from opening wide enough to take Lurk's cock halfway while avoiding her teeth.

Unfortunately that had ever been her limit. Despite having a bit of an oral fixation, she had to accept that Lurk's girth made going any further next to impossible. She was at least well-practiced. Using one hand to stimulate his base, she employed her tongue to squeeze behind the pronounced ridges along the top of his length. Working her lips around him, she bobbed her head forward and back. While one of her scaly hands stroked what she could not suckle, her other slid down to play with herself. Two fingers on her clit rubbed fast and hard. Because of the sloppy mess her slit had become, the pads of her fingers had difficulty getting the right friction on her stiff bundle of nerves.

Too horny to think, she forced his tip to the back of her throat and a little further, pleasantly surprised by how far she could go. Lurk groaned at the temperature of her mouth, giving encouraging tugs on her horns. Taking a deep breath, she slid him further than she ever had before. Because he had climaxed a minute ago, his manhood had just enough give to follow the curve of her throat. Still expecting to choke, she kept going until her nose bumped into Lurk's groin. Both of them were surprised.

Moaning around her mouthful, she delighted in how his ventral bulge pushed down her tongue. Harmony always wondered what it would be like to control her gag reflex to such an extent. Inadvertently swallowing around him she also noted the way his ridges gave even more wonderful texture along the back of her throat. When Harmony reached up to her neck and touched the notable bulge there, girly juices gushed from her petals. The triumphant sexual thrill of having finally achieved the impossible sent the hormone clouded Scalebound over the edge.

Harmony experienced a mind-shattering orgasm even as her cries were muffled by both her spell and the mouthful of cock. As much as she wanted to ask Lurk to face-fuck her with her horns as leverage, she could not think of much beyond the mixture of juices freely flowing between her thighs. Finally running out of air, she popped him out of her mouth with a gasp even as a bit of drool trailed from her lips to the tip of his cock.

"Hah! Oh, gods, sorry. You're still... Really big." Cupping her mound and quaking in the aftershocks, Harmony gazed up at Lurk with a hazy, awestruck grin. This was made marginally more difficult by the profound ache in her jaw. She chirped in surprise when Lurk pulled her up into his arms. At his coaxing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Lifting her up, Lurk's claws dug into her haunches, spreading her backside as he plunged in with one stroke.

"Hrn... I'm not done yet." Lurk groaned the promise as his cock was sheathed in another hold of hers. Harmony only giggled as he bumped his nose against hers before he began to move.

His tail entwined with Harmony's, pulling it down which stretched her slit and let him glide in and out even easier. Their mixed juices dripped down their tails as his girth forced already spilled seed out of her. If before Harmony's slit had been wet and puffy, then sloppy seconds was a romp in soaking wet velvet paradise. He took the liberty of long, deep thrusts, plunging his cock from tip to base each time.

In their many years together, the two of them were well acquainted with the needs and moods of the other. Lurk knew quite well that his darling dearest dragoness wanted a good hard rut. For him to make use of her as his cocksleeve to wring out every drop of seed and breed her cunny until she could hold no more. A need he was more than happy to oblige, bouncing her on his tool in their standing pose. He focused on building back up to a steady rhythm, his thighs began to burn from the exertion, making it rather difficult to maintain. Though he remained hard, it was to be slow going, and he growled in frustration.

She knew him too, holding on for the ride and working her inner muscles to milk him, relishing the coital duties of being his wife. As he rumbled in pent up desire, Harmony found her own pace, clenching down every time he pulled back and relaxing as he pushed back in. Lurk's snarl turned into a moan as each ridge of his member caught on Harmony's entrance, the sensitive flares being held and massaged by hot scaly pussy. As Lurk reached glorious release once again, he crushed his hips against her buxom petals. He poured another load into the still gooey insides of his lovely dragoness with relish. Locking her ankles around his back, Harmony helped him get as deep as he liked.

Even though her sex was already stuffed, Lurk was more than virile enough even on the second go for the end of her tunnel to swell. Harmony basked like a lizard on a hot rock, luxuriating in the fullness. The pressure she craved. Softening much quicker the second time, Lurk's cock slid free along with a deluge of milky honey. Harmony's petals slurped along the draconic tool as he unsheathed himself just like her other set of lips.

"Mmm, thank you, my king." She panted into his shoulder.

"Anything for you, dear queen. I love you." Nuzzling into her crimson hair, Lurk relished their closeness.

Giving his tail one more squeeze, Harmony untangled herself and as she stood, her contents notably sloshed with more than a little pouring out.

"I don't think a towel is quite going to cut it." She deadpanned. One [Clean] scroll later, and the mess was well taken care off. Even though the floor and her sex were wiped free of evidence, her insides still brimmed with essence and the sweet musk of their union clung to her skin.

Realizing that the excuse of 'helping her try on underwear' might be a little awkward, Lurk hurriedly buckled his pants while pulling on his coat.

"Shit, ah, let me head back before you open the door." Struggling with the sleeves of his coat, Lurk winced as he bashed his knuckles against the wall behind him.

"Just gonna hump and run, dear?" Harmony teased.

"No, no, I don't want to hold you up. And I think I might die from shame if someone caught us." Even as he pulled on Mask of the Unbound, its four eyes darted in every direction. No longer blinded by lust, Lurk's paranoia took hold.

"You're fine, silly. I love you too." She was more than happy to let him off the hook. After all, she had been the one to give him a booty call, she thought with a grin. They could have more fun later that night.

Stealing one last kiss, Lurk stepped away.

After spending a minute or so not really thinking about anything at all in her afterglow, Harmony began leisurely clothing herself. Floating on a cloud of endorphins, her heat was satisfied for the time being. Even though her shirt and pants were simple more for the sake of comfort, her many pieces of jewelry left no doubt as to Black Sky's wealth. Once she navigated the maze of hair and horns to get her shirt back on, she also equipped her Crown of Arbitration.

It was an elegant circlet made from obsidian not unlike Nova Crystal with long dark shards standing up along Harmony's brow. Instead of iridescent mana waves, the Crown of Arbitration unfurled long ribbons of parchment from the back of the circlet through her hair, the thick paper branded with glowing orange pyromancy runes. Though not an actual class, following through the laborious questline of Pyre Arbiter was where she had gotten most of her spells.

While Lurk had been shipbreaking, Harmony had been scouring the Lost Libraries of Ra, Apollo, Amaterasu, and Surya. Dungeons scattered across the nine worlds that were labyrinths of books and scrolls which tested Harmony's dedication. Each wing of the different Lost Libraries were to unlock a single spell. Every one to be conquered, collected into a tome, then sacrificed in rituals to transcribe the spell tomes into the glassy shards. Harmony acting as the arbiter of what to burn.

Just as Lurk had earned Soot for the special quests of Gunpowder Sage, the Crown of Arbitration was of little practical use. It had been a physical quest item, gaining complexity with each tome she discovered and offered to the pyre. In the end, it was hers to keep, and made an excellent conversation piece. Her passion usually leaned towards longer, albeit smaller projects. Each point of the crown was the culmination of hours of work. Each a set of spells she had chosen and fought for. She had worked damn hard to perfect her hybrid blend of melee and magic and was damn proud of it.

Checking herself in a summoned mirror, Harmony deemed herself presentable and opened the dressing room. Crisis turned, smiled, and graciously stepped out of the way, having guarded the door while Harmony 'changed'.

With a flip of her hair alongside rustling parchment, Harmony strolled back toward her group.

The Whispering Fletcher was a high end Kadusian crossbow lounge. Although she had only played it once, Harmony was reminded of the bowling alley from a dive game full of old sports. A long counter led off from the entrance, a hundred or more ranged weapons arrayed along the back wall. All available for rent. Further down was a bar area serving drinks while the kitchen situated in the back churned out overpriced appetizers. Servers in outfits befitting the ritzy nature of the Whispering Fletcher moved about the shooting lanes, delivering food, alcohol, as well as various arrows and bolts. There was a fair crowd present, of dukes, duchesses, and others of similarly wealth and station occupying the tables.

Many patrons turned to stare. Many more pretended they were not staring. A few souls were brave enough to take the chance to approach and introduce themselves along with the interests they represented. No one in Kadusia was ever quite prepared to deal with the Scalebound's intimidating combination of height, sheer presence of magic, and disarmingly genuine smile. Her soft words were wrapped in Stormgold that were backed up by Crisis' very large sword.

Though the distractions were numerous, all Harmony had to do was follow the music.

Being royalty, Harmony and Ismeena had the largest lane to shoot at their leisure. Around which gathered the retinues of the two queens. Ismeena was naturally accompanied by city guard, selected for their bravery and experience. The job of Kadusian guard was viewed as a selfless vocation with those seeking glory off with their king, fighting for the Coalition. Only the best were given the thick plate armor in city colors tasked with the responsibility that went along with it to protect their home's monarch. Two other men were with her as well, standing politely for Black Sky's ruler to return.

Harmony's entourage was much smaller, and chosen with purpose.

Stacked in a crescent roll of coils, Cream drew slow, calming symphonies from her cello. Along with her musical talent were the ample assets nearly spilling from her low-cut maid outfit. Her chest gathered as many stares as her polished ivory snake half. Harmony was not blind to the primarily inhuman appearance of Black Sky Legion and made sure to balance the presentation with the cultural sophistication of the cello.

Though her squad was outside, Lapua's exploits among the Seekers made her the rising star of adventurers in Kadusia. As something of a celebrity, numerous retainers had approached Lapua to ask for themselves about the tales they heard. The Neverborn always took every opportunity to extol her true Lord and Lady. Crisis himself was a much more enigmatic presence. Even more so when Lapua clearly deferred to him as a superior. She greeted him with a flare of her halo, the two of them exchanging silent conversation.

The only other visible attendants were two Corsairs. All of The Citadel's Plague Elves wore ornate respirators and light armor of black leather mixed with chainmail. These two had been given special treatment in addition to their normal armor and weapons. A barbed wire braid in fashion with Phage for the female, and a brass circlet for the male. Both had their long cloaks embroidered with red dragons in flight as heraldry representing their Fair Lady. As a finishing touch, they were given responsibility for the pair of messenger ghouls, the freshly polished undead ravens sitting pretty on the Corsair's shoulders.

"Just in time, Queen Harmony, it's your quiver." Ismeena hid her sly smile as she waved. In fearsome company, Queen Ismeena favored her Direwolf mantle.

"What's the score now?" Stepping up to the line, Harmony calmly acted as though she had only been gone a few moments rather than taking twenty minutes of raw sex to scratch the need between her legs.

"I'm ahead by four."

"We'll see about that." Harmony challenged with a smirk, raising the carbine the Corsair handed her to take aim. Unless it was flinging spells, ranged combat was not Harmony's forte. Fortunately, her bracers, while decorative, also let her wield the carbine even though it was outside her job class.

Thunk! Her first bolt went straight into the wood above the target. There was still a bit of post-coital quiver to her arms. The next two flew considerably better, hitting the ring just outside the bullseye.

"Ah, damn. Well, we're tied again. I'm really surprised this is your thing, Queen Ismeena. No offense, it's just many women I knew rather disdained anything physical."

Stepping back, Harmony handed back the carbine as she and Ismeena traded places. One of the Kadusian guards waited, holding out Ismeena's personal crossbow. Light and inlaid with silver filigree, a string that once she had needed help pulling, now easily retracted back into its catch with only one of her hands.

"Kadusia has a long, long history of war. We learned a long time ago that the monsters who have tried to knock down our walls do not care to differentiate between men, women, and children." Thunk. Inner ring. "My grandfather would tell me stories from the old Seekers. I grew up hearing about the adventures of the great heroine Josephine. Her and her fellow Seekers were my favorites." Thunk. Outer ring. "Belgrave women are expected to be able to look after ourselves. You've mentioned before, were there not monsters where you came from?" Ismeena asked, landing a bullseye with a triumphant cry. Polite applause followed.

They traded places once again.

"Oh yes, all over the place. Sometimes they were so thick you couldn't walk ten feet without having to fight your way through them. But they hardly ever attacked the cities. Not directly, anyway." This time, Harmony took more careful aim as she spoke. Her first bolt hit the inner ring. Even though projectiles were not Harmony's expertise, it was impossible to escape Lurk's skill and passion for teaching after being married to him for so long. And besides, she thrived on challenge.

Keeping her muscles locked, she adjusted the barbed sights of her carbine ever so slightly and sent another. Bullseye. Her third and final shot of the match nearly split the feathers of the second. Bullseye. Firm applause from Crisis, Lapua, and the two Corsairs lauded their Fair Lady's victory. Cream paused to clap as well before launching into a sprightly triumphant tune.

"Good show, Queen Harmony. My failing health has me woefully out of practice. Something I will have to change." Graceful in her loss, Ismeena trailed a hand along the Amulet of Vitality. Harmony sat down at the table to chat, relax, and drink a bit of wine.

While one of the Whispering Fletcher attendants went downrange to retrieve the bolts and reset targets, one of the waiting men took his chance.

Head Wizard Lysander approached the two rulers, stopping at a respectful distance and bowing so low his hat nearly fell off. Then he straightened so quickly it was instead flung backwards off his head. Ignoring the lost article, he refused to lose traction.

"Queen Harmony, I would like to purchase one of your Amulets of Vitality. For the good of all Kadusia and in the name of magical learning, I beg of you. I have dedicated my life to advancing our city's wizard academy to catch up with those Heymon bastards. If I can replicate even some of the power within your Amulet, then I will be able to advance our enchanting capabilities by great leaps and bounds. Maybe enough to help turn the tide of the war." Lysander continued with his rehearsed speech.

At first, Harmony was hesitant. Then simply weighed the advantages and disadvantages, coming to the easy conclusion. What was a single Amulet compared to the goodwill it would generate? Just to be sure of the wizard, her eyes flicked to Lapua. The Neverborn gave the slightest nod. Having a psionic on call made judging character a much more precise science.

"You may have one. However, since the design came from Black Sky Legion, if you manage to replicate it, we expect fair compensation. Five percent royalty on gross sales. Lapua, can you draw up a proper contract for him at the embassy?" Producing one from her inventory, Harmony gave the Amulet of Vitality to Lapua.

"Of course, Lady Harmony." The Neverborn answered. "Please come to the embassy later, Lysander, and I will be happy to accommodate you."

Lysander was nearly beside himself, nearly tangling the sleeve of his robes as he gestured wildly.

"I've not put years of my life into studying artefacts for nothing. The Heymon have been ahead of us in producing enchanted items for too long. Mark my words, Kadusia shall be the hub of magical learning it was always meant to be! Thank you! Thank you, your majesty." The Head Wizard marched off, forgot his hat, turned to get it, and marched off again.

The last person seeking audience was Ramon the tailor. A charmingly effeminate fellow, so sharply dressed that even Lapua had to respect the fine sapphire gemcloth of his vest and emerald tunic. He was in actuality, a demi-human. Long rabbit ears stuck straight up, covered in rich brown fur while a fluffy cottonball tail shook as he walked were his two obvious traits. Having a tail actually made him quite the versatile craftsmen, knowing what was actually comfortable for species with tails to wear.

"Greetings, Queen Harmony, Queen Ismeena." Normally bubbly, Ramon was dour, working a handkerchief into fraying in his hands as he bowed. "I do not wish to intrude on your good spirits, your majesties..."

"Nonsense, Ramon. Out with it, man." Ismeena insisted.

"It's simply awful!" He wailed, falling to his knees while clasping the handkerchief to his chest. "My best clothing designer has betrayed me! Senford, the filthy scoundrel, has reneged on his contract with me to work for that harlot Sommers to help make her dreadful gowns. I don't know what he sees in that crone. I've tried talking to the tailor's guild, but since Senford is the only one in Kadusia who can make gemcloth, the guild refuses to punish him."

"I may know someone. He has some very good craftsman skills. Let me see what I can do." All Harmony had to do was hold out her arm and one of the messenger ghouls came to her. "Go to Skitharix. Ask him to make something... Pretty, and feminine, please. Nothing fancy. Something you can carry back."

"Yes, Fairest and Most Radiant Flame." The messenger ghoul gave a deferential fan of its wings before taking off into its portal.

Within scant seconds, the ghoul returned with two bits of clothing.

"That was fast. Let's see..." Harmony unfurled the largest piece, a long white camisole so sheer and light it almost floated. Passing it along to Ramon, even Ismeena reached out to touch the heavenly top.

"Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" Ramon cried.

Eagerly, Harmony rolled out the other article only to be rather confused at first. At least until she realized that it was a pair of jet black underwear with the front made into a screaming skull visage. Looking on as the ornately decorated messenger ghoul preened itself on the table, Harmony realized that perhaps she should have been a bit more specific.

"Okay, wow. That's a bit strange. Sorry about that." She held the... Inspired piece out at arms length.

"No, please, Queen Harmony, do not apologize for quality! All true artists have some eccentricities. I'm sure there's a client somewhere who would be thrilled for this." Ever the eye for quality, Ramon took the bottoms too, gazing in wonder at the arcane stitchwork needed to render such detail.

Lapua lent a helping hand or four.

"Ramon, you should come to the Legion embassy as well. Skitharix was kind enough to spare one of his Flayers to work on its interior who should be more than capable and we could iron out a commission agreement. That way you no longer have to worry about the tailor's guild. If it is agreeable to you, Lady Harmony."

"I feel bad for working you so hard, Lapua."

"Not at all, Lady Harmony. I should be thanking you for gifting me with such varied and interesting duties." Lapua answered and every Legion member there nodded along.

"Before I go, I must ask, Queen Harmony, did your husband enjoy your last purchase?" Ramon asked with a wink and a smile.

"Oh, believe me, we both did." Harmony put a finger to her lips as her tail waved demurely.

As he left, Ramon's grin was a mile wide.

In the absence, Ismeena could not fully contain her sorrow. "Your husband is very lucky to have you, Queen Harmony. Though I'm glad for you, my heart yearns for my own king's safe return."

"I understand completely. We could help you visit him. You could be there and back in a day." Harmony made the offer with sincerity, as one married woman to another.

"As grievously tempting as that is, I must decline. You are too generous. My duty is here. As has always been the charge of the Queen of Kadusia to look after the city and her people in times of war." Straightening in her seat, Ismeena naturally took on the posture of what was expected of her.

"I've been meaning to ask a bit more about King Reinald. Was he born king?" As a way of changing the subject, Harmony broached the line of questioning for her own curiosity.

"No, no, the Kadusian counts come together and vote when the previous king passes as dictated by law. My betrothal was arranged as part of my mother, the Countess Belgrave, casting her vote in favor of Reinald." Though she did not smile, there was a cunning glint in Ismeena's eye.

"You were forced to marry him?" Harmony blurted.

"Most would think so. In truth, we fancied each other a long while before being married. He and I spent a good deal of time convincing my mother and his father of the union so we could be together. We were quite daring back then in many, many ways." Petting her Direwolf mantle, Ismeena was lost in youthful remembrance. Then she leaned close to Harmony and spoke in a conspiratorial hush. "You know, I could have told Ramon about how much you liked his clothes. You two were really going at it in that dressing room."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Harmony immediately deflected.

"I could see both of your tails underneath the door."

"Oops. Well, it probably won't be the last time."

The two queens laughed together.

***BSL***

In a step, Lurk returned to the comfort of The Citadel. Breathing in the cool air of the sixth floor once again, he switched back to Mask of the Keeper and plopped down into his chair.

"Sorry, Phage, things took a bit longer than I thought." He spoke between gulps of tea that had grown lukewarm.

Giggling a bit, Phage reached across the table and adjusted Lurk's disheveled shirt and coat. More than just his disorderly look, it was the flecks of gold along the hem of his shirt that gave him away. Soot grumbled noisily at being disturbed, flopping out of Phage's lap to curl up on top of Lurk's talons.

"Do not apologize on my account, High Lord. Your duties, as well as your bond with Lady Harmony are absolute. Though the match did conclude in your absence."

"Who won?" He asked.

"You'll be pleased to know that both teams fought with tenacity. The reds took the objective, but the blues defeated more enemies." She looked out at the field where exhausted Corsairs conducted post-battle discussion. Each team gathered together to compare notes on what worked and what had not. Most of them had been fighting since that morning.

"Has anyone grown more powerful as a result?"

"I had several Corsairs try to fire either an Impaler or Shardstorm." Phage shook her head. "No one yet, High Lord. If it is possible, then we will find a way."

"Don't worry, Phage. Even if no one gains power, they will gain tactical experience. If nothing else, I hope they had fun. I know I did." Stretching, Lurk cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. "I think I'm going to go wash up, then tinker with a few old designs of mine. Maybe root around in the treasury a bit. What are are you going to be doing later?" He asked out of politeness and curiosity, genuinely enjoying the richness of life in The Citadel.

"There's a special someone I plan on spending the evening with." Eyes crinkling with a hidden smile, Phage idly traced the etchings in her fan.

"That sounds wonderful! I'm glad you're..." Lurk paused. "Uh, Phage, you don't need... Um, condoms or anything, do you?"

Phage, one of the strongest entities in all The Citadel turned a bright shade of ruddy pink.

"Lord Lurk, I-! While I... A-a-appreciate the offer, I don't think that's what Skitharix had in mind." She hid her face completely behind the pleats of her fan.

"Oh, I suppose... If you did want to... With anyone. Well, just... I mean, in case you need protection, you can ask me anytime." Although any protection would actually be for the male rather than the floor guardian, his offer was sincere. Guilt gnawed at him a bit for perhaps overstepping her boundaries. So he stood and made ready to depart. Soot meeped, more disgruntled than ever.

"Wait a moment, Lord Lurk, please." Phage implored him, shooting to her feet in a jingle of brass anklets. Quickly rounding the table, she looked up at him, wavering in indecision as a blush still burned in her cheeks. Then Phage hugged him. Only briefly. Only with the barest squeeze. On her own floor she had much greater control of her power. She was still extraordinarily careful. "Thank you, High Lord. Thank you for spending this time with me."

Phage let out a small gasp as Lurk hugged her back. She was enveloped in the folds of his greatcoat as he held her head against his chest. So close, the mild tang of spiced gun oil filtered through her mask. Lurk sensed her power lapping against the damage barriers from Mask of the Keeper. Rather than make him worry, it rekindled his awe. She was no less deadly, no less dangerous, but so much more in control.

"Really, Phage, if you ever need anything, if you ever need to talk, I'll be there." It was his duty, as leader of Black Sky Legion, of The Citadel, and her creator.

In answer, Phage just held him tighter, enjoying the way held her shoulders and petted her hair.

They broke apart, laughing as Soot's incessant meeping could no longer be ignored.

***BSL***

In the the tallest spire of the central keep was Phage's personal living suite, the Pale Rider's personal stable just below. Phage appeared at the bottom of her penthouse in a plume of emerald fire. She let her hair down from its braid, still enjoying her more relaxed attire.

Fortunately, Lurk's meticulous attention to detail meant her abode had all the amenities she might need. Everything that was not made of corrosion resistant material was blessed with renewal enchantments fueled by the floor directly. The bottom tier had a small dining area replete with preservation enchantments, able to summon the finest dishes from The Citadel's kitchens. While the protection on the food would wear out quickly in her presence, Phage at least was able to enjoy her meal without it rotting on her tongue.

That particular quirk was one of the many reasons Lurk had never used her build himself. It was simply too difficult to maintain without a base like The Citadel.

Her attention was drawn to the trail of fabric leading up her stairs. Flowers made of the silk bloomed up from the unfurled banner of cloth. Phage followed them up to her bedroom.

Above the dining area, her spacious living quarters had two sets of tall windows on either side, looking out at the forts bellow. There were sitting area built under the windows, a tall wardrobe, and a door that led off to private bathroom. Hanging in the circular dome of the minaret of her tower were windchimes made from emerald Data Crystals of a bygone era. A resource he had hoarded in case of need for so long they had gone out of season. Lurk could have traded in the defunct material, but found their decorative value worth far more than the pitiful exchange rate on offer. During the sixth floor's artificial night cycle, they could be used as light sources.

A luxurious queen-sized four poster bed sat beneath the largest cluster of decorations. All Darksteel and silk curtains, plump pillows and baroque bedspread. At the foot of the bed was an ornate chaise lounge, upholstered in the same black and white.

At the top of the steps, Skitharix waited for her.

"Your timing is perfect, my lovely. Look, look! Lady Harmony wished me to make some pretty things for her. Oh I hope she liked them. I considered sending her these." He held up a dainty pair of panties that were so sheer as to be see-through. Covering the crotch of the undergarments was a nest of roses and ash flowers rendered in silk. A bouquet for the wearer's secrets in a delightfully sexy way. "But I felt the screaming skull was more feminine." The rough metal rasp of his voice grinded through the words like a whetstone.

In his excitement, he had spilled several bolts of different colored silk. Flowers sprouting around the holes in the fabric where he had entered a creative frenzy to fulfill his Fair Lady's request.

Stepping around the petals of the peculiar garden, Phage took the rejected design and giggled at the antics of her companion. "Skitharix, is this what you wanted to do? I would love to play dress up." She turned the garment over, admiring the woven petals.

"Ah, I suppose I haven't told you the actual reason, in my haste. While performing my morning rituals in the Church of Knives, I stumbled across several sealed jars of Abyssal Ink and was struck by inspiration! High Lord Lurk must have left them there for me to find." Skitharix clinked his fingers together. In truth Lurk had simply left them there in his long hiatus, and when asked, had merely played along.

Clearly Skitharix was getting off topic.

"Focus, dear." Phage knew how easily he got distracted.

"Yes, yes, of course. It is quite simple, my radiant mourning dove. I wish to paint you." Lifting a hand of knives, he summoned an easel, tall canvas, and a stand topped with ink pots and brushes.

"Skitharix, how delightful. I would love that. Is there anywhere you'd like me? Shall I sit? Stand?" Phage was excited at the prospect.

"I can't decide, honestly. Your beautiful elegance is the most incredible. But so is your elegant beauty! Such a conundrum. Your charming grace. Your graceful charm." Hunching over, Skitharix splayed out his finger knives in hopes of cutting the answer from the air.

Phage thought for a moment, and decided for him. While Skitharix was still mumbling to himself, she changed into the lovely silk lingerie he had made. Going over to her bed, she pulled down the front of her dress and let the garment fall free to pool around her feet, kicking off her anklets as well. Naked but for her underwear, and mask, she felt supremely vulnerable. Yet, trusted no other to see her in such a way. By holding onto the canopy support she hid behind, her arm covered her small bosom while giving her hips enough tilt to show off the decorative roses between her legs.

"Skitharix, love, over here." She hoped her pose was erotic, rather than smutty.

Perking up as he remembered where he was, Skitharix peered from under his hood and froze for a moment. "Magnificent," He whispered like a razorblade across a leather strap. Clicking forward, his cloaked hulk ducked behind the canvas to depict his vision of her.

It was easy for Skitharix to lift a series of brushes with his strings and paint that way. With machine precision guided by an artist's eye, he rendered her image in black ink on the stark white canvas. His strokes captured the smooth contours of her limbs, slight dip in her waist, up to the harsh grinning visage of her mask. Phage was already a masterpiece, so all he had to do was ink her as she was, lean with muscles taut as a whipcord. Befitting the Pale Rider in her nature. Unbound from its braid, her raven black hair cascaded down to her lower back in a waterfall of dark.

In scant minutes, he was done. Her exact likeness transcribed in shadow on the tall canvas. He only kept the poster of the bed and the dress rumpled at her feet as backdrop. The rest of the space was dedicated to her, and only her. Despite the harshness of the midnight ink, Skitharix was quite pleased with the results. He turned the painting around for Phage to see. She came out from behind the bed, not at all minding the way he drank in her expanse of ivory skin.

"It's wonderful." She breathed, unprepared for the quality of his portrait, blessed by the opportunity to see herself through his eyes. Phage wanted to ask if he would hang it in his home, to be reminded of her. She wanted to hug him as she had Lurk, and remembered that Skitharix was much more fragile.

Struck by melancholy, Phage sat down on her lounge. Then overwhelmed by it, she lay back, covering her eyes with a forearm. "Skitharix, are you happy with what we have? Do I... Meet your needs?" She felt remorseful at the selfish question. Which in turn only deepened her contrition.

"Well of course, my devastatingly delightful damsel. What more could this humble puppeteer ask for than to bask in the presence of High Lord Lurk's most beautiful creations?" He hovered close at her side.

"It does not bother you that I cannot... We cannot... Have closer contact?" She held her hand out, a ghost breath from Skitharix' trailing cloak, peaking underneath her forearm.

It was strangely fitting that as unintended incarnations of Lurk's grief and madness, that the two of them were forever entwined, yet not meant to ever touch.

"Is that what has you troubled? Does it bother you, Dread Lady that this creature is but metal and wire? Even were we able to have closer contact, I am machine and nerve. I cannot give the union of flesh." Bright vermilion eyes flashed within the sockets of his metallic skull, burning like coals in the depths of his hood.

"Of course not, Skitharix. I would love you all the same." She answered without hesitation.

"I do not need to touch you to be close to you. Nor do I have to use my knives or strings for us to be together." He stood directly over her. "Close your eyes my raven-dove. Let my words be what touch you. High Lord Lurk's gift to me was expanse of the mind. Allow me to share that with you. Dance with me in the spaces between the swinging pendulum of real. Madness is just another word for abstract thought. And within, there is no such thing as limitation."

He spoke more, but the words became blurred as Phage allowed herself to drift.

She felt him touch her as the moon touched the sea. Her ocean, still and calm, was tugged by the heavens. Her waves lapping at him. Skitharix caressed those curves he had been painting with the gravity of his want. His contact was a wing, feathers, paintbrushes. So soft and gentle. Though her outside was that of poise, it was also that of unbreakable Darksteel resolve. That was her duty. Her purpose. Steel and bone wrapped in silk. And with Skitharix, all she knew was silk.

Within that space she was the ocean, pulled and pushed by the moon, yet she was also engulfed by Skitharix, falling back into the depths that were her, and now him. In the next moment they were as yin and yang. Two halves of a whole. Equal. Warm breath on the back of her neck. Lips leaving ghostly kisses on her throat. Unreal fingers trailing up the buttermilk expanse of her stomach while hands kneaded her thighs.

As his feather touch caressed the modest swell of her breasts, liquid silk soon trickled from her core. Her sensitive buds stiffened and her bosom broke out in gooseflesh as more attention fell there. Skitharix was utterly delighted by the demure cuteness of his raven-dove's nipples. Skitharix followed the kindled pleasure to its source. Her vulva was plump with pink arousal and blushed more shamefully than her cheeks. Though she knew it was impossible, Phage also knew that she reveled in the way Skitharix parted her. She was a creature of the real, and craved her sex to be opened and filled.

Within their shared space, Phage's nethers were rendered into a flower, her delicate pink slit adorned with drops of sticky dew. Skitharix then was the gardener. He was a meticulous creature, grooming her from top to bottom, stem to pistil. The way her pearl glistened as a treasured center to her sex was almost irresistible. He got there slowly. More folds, petals, and secret places for him to explore and expose. When he pulled back the nerve-rich hood protecting her clitoris, strings of that floral dew formed a crystal web as she bloomed. She was so responsive, and he was far from done.

She was somehow more than Skitharix could have ever imagined. A living canvas that breathed and moaned and writhed beneath his strokes.

"Would you sing for me, raven-dove?" Just at the asking, Phage tasted Skitharix' want of her, and glorified herself in it. To be coveted for herself was enough to warble songbird moans. Just like a rose, the petals of Phage continued to blossom under the skilled artistry of her lover. That same expertise which painted her likeness, now reached into every crease and fold.

Soon her feminine desires rooted themselves in his rich soil. He fed her with virile masculine lust. She was a field of ripe fruit trees and he was there to harvest. That fruit hung heavy with juice and eroticism in equal measure. Skitharix was a master within their realm, and formed her ache, need, want, into a proxy that pooled in his grasp, plucking her fruit and sampling its sweetness. He pierced her with his own desire to know her from within as any artist seeks to understand the heart of their lover.

Heady maleness stretched her wonderfully taut. Skitharix strung her tight and played her nerves as a master musician ran a violin bow across them. While her moans rose in pitch, he complimented the song by supplying a bass that made her whole body vibrate. A rumble of pleasure that quaked the roots she had buried in him.

Every secret place inside her was naked before her lover. The lips of her sex were flushed, the inner walls clenching. Skitharix knew every detail as the smooth muscle of her cervix responded so nicely to his circling brushstrokes. Finding just the right amount of stretch to apply to her tunnel was a delightful task. Once he discovered the proper pressure, he maintained it as a constant undertone, her rose forced to display its vulnerable belly.

His impossibly intimate reach did not end there. Skitharix reveled in understanding the furthest sacred depths of his silk-steel raven-dove. Her womb was a cup that overflowed with lush ambrosia. A magnificent melody of muscles and nerves surrounded her chalice in a symphonic cocoon. Skitharix found the range of sound and color he could illicit by pulling and tugging on the right chords turned a trickle into a river of ecstasy for Phage.

Then it was time for the crescendo. His being poured into her as their intercourse reached its peak. Climax engulfed Phage, her edges blurring as the sea churned, distorting the reflection of the moonlight on its waves. The liquid need that gushed from her womb formed ribbons of color weaving together as she for a blinding moment, did not know where she began, and he ended.

Shuddering and disengaging from the dreamspace, Phage was right where she had left herself, gone out of time for quite a few minutes at least.

Skitharix gave Phage space to catch her breath and also to recover some of his own vigor. She tried to stand and immediately sat back down, her legs quaking. Reaching a hand between her legs, she pressed a hand to her throbbing, overly sensitive sex. Oh yes, her mind had made real the climax Skitharix had coaxed from her. Also her pretty new panties were completely soaked.

Finally finding the strength to overcome the wobble, she peeled off her soiled undergarments and tossed them onto her discarded dress.

"That... Was amazing." She panted.

"It was my pleasure, truly." Skitharix whistled as a crackling shudder ran down his spine, twitching all the while. Phage then surprised him by lifting up her mask just enough to keep her face hidden, standing on her tiptoes to kiss the air a scant few inches from his cheek. His mechanical heart skipped a beat as the unfiltered breath of affection from death herself washed over him. Then he watched in admiration as Phage's toned, naked backside sauntered toward her bathroom.

As untouchable grief and flayed madness, their union could not be physical. Yet because of this, neither were they bound by such petty limitation.

Never to touch. But forever entwined.

***BSL***

Author's Notes:

So, as a hilarious aside, Harmony's heat was inspired by something I read some time ago, asking whether or not elves would have periods. And, as stated in my chapter, it makes much more sense from our understanding of the natural world, if elves just periodically had times where they were just extra horny! I won't go into the full details or else we'd be here all day. It is a fascinating subject nonetheless!

Harmony's Pyre Crown was inspired by those items in game that really have no intrinsic value except to stand as markers of accomplishment. Those cosmetics or pieces of armor that serve no purpose except to show off what someone has accomplished.

In my head, really, YGGDRASIL was everything. Every minigame and social space and activity you can imagine. A bit of everything all mixed together. All to fuel unprecedented player freedom and customizability. Ship breaking. Racing. Fighting. Exploring. Trading. Mining. Everything! To me, anyway.

Until next time, gentle reader.


End file.
